The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815: A Napoleonic Outpost in Central Europe 9781472523570, 9781474219570, 9781472524140

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The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

Bloomsbury Studies in Central and East European History Series Editor: Jerzy Lukowski, University of Birmingham, UK A series of original scholarly works dedicated to exploring, on their own terms and in the light of their own traditions and experiences, the seemingly daunting pasts of peoples, nations and states in the regions of Central and Eastern Europe. It examines the ‘lands between’ eastern Germany and the western borderlands of Russia, looking at the history of what we know as Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine, the Czech and Slovak states, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria today, but which were once formerly very different entities. The volumes included seek to disentangle and make accessible the complexities of the pre-twentieth-century history of this region; they analyse the interactions that took place between the peoples of Central and Eastern Europe and the seemingly more potent polities that existed at the time, such as Russia, the Ottoman Empire and the Habsburg monarchy. Capitalizing on an increasing ease of access to archival material in the old eastern bloc, this series sheds new light on the neglected past of a fascinating area of Europe, whose ethnic complexities, alliances, collaborations and hatreds make it something of a forerunner for a globalized modern world. Published: Disorderly Liberty: The Political Culture of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Eighteenth Century, Jerzy Lukowski The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815: A Napoleonic Outpost in Central Europe, Jarosław Czubaty

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815 A Napoleonic Outpost in Central Europe Jarosław Czubaty Translated by Ursula Phillips

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

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www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Polish in 2011 as Ksie˛stwo Warszawskie (1807–1815) by Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, Warszawa This edition first published by Bloomsbury Academic in 2016 Paperback edition first published 2017 © by Jarosław Czubaty, 2011 © by Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, Warszawa, 2011 Published by arrangement with University of Warsaw Press Copyright for English edition © by Ursula Phillips, 2016 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: 978-1-4725-2357-0 PB: 978-1-3500-4561-3 ePDF: 978-1-4725-2414-0 ePub: 978-1-4725-2196-5 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Czubaty, Jaros±aw, author. | Phillips, Ursula, translator. The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815 : a Napoleonic outpost in Central Europe / Jaroslaw Czubaty ; translated by Ursula Phillips. Ksiestwa Warszawskiego (1807–1815) English London : Bloomsbury Academic, 2016. | Series: Bloomsbury studies in Central and East Europe | “First published in Polish in 2011 as Ksiestwa Warszawskiego (1807–1815) by Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, Warszawa.” | “Published by arrangement with University of Warsaw Press.” LCCN 2015030692| ISBN 9781472523570 (hardback) | ISBN 9781472524140 (ePDF) | ISBN 9781472521965 (ePub) LCSH: Napoleonic Wars, 1800–1815–Participation, Polish. | Poland. Armia–History–Napoleonic Wars, 1800–1815. | Napoleon I, Emperor of the French, 1769–1821–Relations with Poles. | Napoleonic Wars, 1800–1815–Influence. | Poland–History–1795–1830. | BISAC: HISTORY / Europe / General. | HISTORY / Modern / 19th Century. LCC DC226.6.P362 P72913 2016 DDC 943.8/032–dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015030692 Series: Bloomsbury Studies in Central and East European History Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Contents Acknowledgements Introduction Prologue: The Horses of Minister von Hoym 1 ‘Deliverer’ or ‘Conqueror’: Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807 2 ‘A wise and liberal constitution has replaced anarchy …’ 3 Between Disappointment and Hope, 1807–1809 4 1809: War on the Periphery 5 ‘Sobieski’s Heirs’: The Polish Army of the Duchy of Warsaw 6 ‘Money! Money! Money!’ or the Foundations of ‘National Prosperity’ 7 Tradition and Change in the Social Life of the Duchy of Warsaw 8 New Forms and Old Mentalities in Political Life 9 1812–1815: ‘We will have no choice here …’ Epilogue Maps Notes Bibliography Index

vii 1 5 13 37 45 63 79 95 109 139 169 195 217 219 237 243

Acknowledgements

The translation of this book was made possible by a grant from the National Programme for the Development of the Humanities [Narodowy Program Rozwoju Humanistyki, no. 31H 12 0180 81]. I am most grateful for my discussions with many scholars who share my research interests. First and foremost, I thank Professor Barbara Grochulska. I also express my gratitude to colleagues Martyna Deszczyńska, Małgorzata Karpińska, Anna Rosner, Tomasz Kizwalter, Maciej Mycielski, Dariusz Nawrot and the late Andrzej Nieuważny for their valuable comments and observations. I am likewise most grateful to Jerzy Lukowski and Richard Butterwick-Pawlikowski for their encouragement during the preparation of this book and advice on scope and content. My most personal thanks are reserved for my wife Lilia and our children, Marysia, Janka and Staś, who have cheerfully accepted my frequent absences from family life in order to devote my time to a past era.

Introduction

The Napoleonic era was a crucial period in Poland’s history. The pace and drama of events unfolding in contemporary European politics, the glittering campaigns and desperate battles in which Polish soldiers participated, the hopes associated with them for the restoration of a Polish state, the scale of the transformations initiated in various areas of life, not least the influence of Napoleon Bonaparte himself – to some observers a radiant light of genius, to others a grim shadow of despotism cast over Europe – all meant that the events of 1807–15 became an essential part of Polish historical and national consciousness. They have also attracted the attention of Polish historians stretching back many years. The first work to provide an overview of events as well as an assessment of processes taking place in politics, the constitutional and legal system, economics and social life, and which took into account also the personal perspective of the author, was published in 1860. This was History of the Duchy of Warsaw [Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego] by Fryderyk Skarbek, an economics professor and participant in the events described. Skarbek’s work was to remain the chief compendium of knowledge on the period for years to come. Despite Poles’ continuing interest in the history of the Duchy of Warsaw during the second half of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, Skarbek had few continuators. Works published in subsequent years in one or other of the three partitioning powers (Russia, Austria or Germany) tended to be popular works containing a minimal canon of knowledge and emphasizing those strands in the Duchy’s history that Poles considered especially important for sustaining a patriotic spirit and national cohesion. The reticence of scholars to attempt a general history of the Duchy of Warsaw may spring from their awareness that many aspects of its history had never been properly researched. Scholarly research on the Napoleonic era in Poland deepened only during the first half of the twentieth century. Monographs and articles appeared devoted mainly to the Polish question in great power politics or the progress of individual campaigns and wars. Biographical studies of the most important politicians and military men, installed by posterity in the pantheon of national heroes, made up a significant popular trend. Detailed aspects of the political history of the Duchy, its wars and diplomacy, continued to attract the interest of historians even in the 1950s and 1960s. However, issues of political and social transformation, or transformation to a new national consciousness, previously outside the main concerns of historians, began to gain in importance. Despite the growing number of publications devoted to the history of the Duchy, the only work to seriously reconnect with the tradition

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established by Fryderyk Skarbek was Barbara Grochulska’s book The Duchy of Warsaw [Księstwo Warszawskie, 1966]. This was the first modern overview of the Napoleonic protectorate in the Polish lands. Grochulska presents a panorama of the politics of the era, the structural and institutional framework of the state, as well as the transformations taking place in society, mentality and culture. On the basis of her own research, she also undertook an equally significant re-evaluation of the economic situation in the Duchy. Without doubt, the so-called Polish question became a crucial factor in political rivalries between the great powers at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Polish historians of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries tended to concentrate, however, on the internal problems of the Polish independence movement. Meanwhile, their successors, who found themselves after 1945 on the eastern side of the Iron Curtain, had very little opportunity to participate in subsequent international scholarly debates. For these reasons, very little of the history of the Duchy of Warsaw and its role in European political history has entered the canonical knowledge of the Napoleonic era. The most detailed information published to date may still be found in the articles by John Holland Rose, Marian Kukiel and Marceli Handelsman included in volume two of The Cambridge History of Poland (1941). More recently, Alexander Grab devoted a short chapter to the Duchy of Warsaw in his book Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe (2003) in the Palgrave Macmillan series European History in Perspective. This state of affairs induced me to attempt to supplement existing knowledge about the French protectorate on the Vistula by taking into account both the European context in which it functioned and recent research by Polish historians. I refer to the most important research in my footnotes. Readers wishing to broaden their knowledge further will find a full list of references in the Polish edition of my book, which is considerably longer than the English version. I have endeavoured to ensure that this book should not be a chronicle of political and military events. I am not interested simply in war and political intrigue. My intention has been to convey essential knowledge of the social processes underway at the time and also, as far as my modest competence permits, of economic transformations and changes to culture and mentality. In discussing all these aspects, I have tried not to lose sight of the individual human beings who were caught up in the events of the time. Some concepts or notions used in the text require explanation. I use the term ‘nation’ [Polish: naród] in the way it was used by my protagonists, although, as I stress in the book, in the period under discussion, a modern national consciousness was only just taking shape. I use the term ‘aristocracy’ even though in the Polish lands, according to some historians, it became an entirely separate entity only in subsequent decades of the nineteenth century. I am concerned, however, to differentiate between the elite according to birth and possessions that functioned in the changed social and political conditions following Partition – which were very different from those prevalent in the eighteenth century – and former magnates [magnateria], who were not only an official part of the noble estate [szlachta] of the former Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, but also occupied a specific political position because of their landed possessions and their political influence.

Introduction

3

The Duchy of Warsaw, like the Napoleonic period as a whole in the history of Poland and the Poles, has been controversial. Were those few years of its existence anything more than a dramatic, colourful yet isolated episode in Polish history, devoid of lasting significance? We will return to this question. It remains for me to express the hope that my work will enable readers to make up their own minds.

Prologue: The Horses of Minister von Hoym

Throughout the day of 6 July 1796, crowds of Warsaw’s inhabitants watched the celebrations that accompanied the swearing of an act of allegiance to Frederick William II by representatives of the territories incorporated into the Kingdom of Prussia as a result of the Third Partition of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. The king’s representative, Minister for South Prussia (Südpreussen) Karl Georg von Hoym, addressed the Polish clergy and nobility gathered in the Royal Castle. He described the misfortunes which, according to the propaganda of the partitioning powers, the political anarchy inherent in the former Commonwealth’s system of ‘noble democracy’ had brought upon the Polish nation. He presented a prospect of ‘happiness and prosperity’ under the new regime. In the castle courtyard, following the ceremony’s conclusion, Minister von Hoym swore in representatives of the townsmen and peasants. The celebrations were crowned by a religious service, the firing of a hundredgun salute and banquets organized at the government’s expense. A few days later, the wedding of twenty-four young women whose dowries were provided by the Prussian authorities took place. A different view of the promised ‘prosperity’ under Prussian rule was held no doubt by one particular townsman, whose watch ‘was pulled from his pocket in the crush during the act of homage [homagium] at the Castle’, according to a police report.1 *** The homagium, which was preceded by similar ceremonies in the Russian and Austrian partitions, formally concluded the reign of Stanisław August Poniatowski. His rule had coincided with years of crisis in noble parliamentarianism as well as Russian domination in the Commonwealth. In 1772 the colossal but weak state had fallen victim to its powerful neighbours and lost a significant portion of its territory to Russia, Prussia and Austria. Attempts at reform culminating in the Third of May Constitution (1791), and intended to strengthen the state, came too late. The closing years of the king’s reign – of a man who some regarded as a patient and skilled politician, others as a mere connoisseur of the arts – were marked by the Second Partition of the Commonwealth (1793) and the rising led by Tadeusz Kościuszko in defence of its territorial integrity and political independence. After Kościuszko’s defeat, on the strength of treaties concluded between Austria, Russia and Prussia in 1795, the Commonwealth ceased to exist. As a consequence of the three partitions, Russia gained about 463,000 square kilometres of territory and a population of more than 5.5 million. Austria acquired approximately 129,000 square kilometres and 4.2 million people living in the territory known as Galicia, and Prussia 141,400 square kilometres

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and about 2.6 million people.2 The acquisitions of the house of Hohenzollern included territory which was well cultivated and economically developed, densely populated, and united East Prussia with the rest of the monarchy.3 For the inhabitants of the former Commonwealth, being brought under the control of three partitioning powers meant having to adapt to a new political situation. The consequences could be felt even by strata of society that took no direct interest in political life and accepted the transfer of state allegiance with indifference. Commercial, professional and even family contacts were hampered or simply terminated once the new borders had been demarcated. Transition to government under a new authority brought with it a number of drawbacks, humiliations and threats. Within the system of absolute monarchy pertaining in Austria, Prussia and Russia, the Polish szlachta or nobility, having lost their status as citizens, became subjects – albeit privileged ones – but deprived now of influence in political and public affairs. Having to bear increased burdens for the sake of the state was a new experience. This included military service, from which only the szlachta were exempt. The centralized monarchies of Enlightened Despotism also needed money to maintain their armies and bureaucracy. For their Polish subjects, this meant a significant rise in taxes in comparison to levels they had paid under the Commonwealth. Adapting to the realities of life under foreign domination also required overcoming difficulties in everyday communication with the new authorities, and conducting one’s affairs in unfamiliar judicial and administrative institutions that employed new procedures and official languages usually unknown to the petitioner. Polish inhabitants of the Prussian Partition encountered all these problems. The territory was divided into departments, in which the civil administration was entrusted to the War and Domains Chambers [Kriegs- und Domänenkammer]. At the district [Kreis or powiat] level, the administration was controlled by a Landrat, who was subordinate to the Chambers.4 Catholicism lost its status as the official ruling confession. Ownership of Church property passed to the Royal Treasury in exchange for endowments paid to the clergy. Lands previously belonging to the Polish kings were treated in a similar way. The Prussian authorities removed the former lessees, which often meant loss of a major source of income for the latter. The state likewise confiscated landed properties from the most active participants in Kościuszko’s rising now resident in the Prussian Partition. Within the space of a few years, more than 240 such properties ended up in the hands of Prussian generals and dignitaries.5 In contrast to the system introduced by the Third of May Constitution, which diluted divisions between the estates, the Prussian legal system strengthened the barriers dividing them. The special social position of the szlachta was guaranteed by their recognized privilege of owning landed property as well as their right to serve in officer ranks of the army and occupy higher posts in the civil service. Szlachta who owned land also had administrative and judicial control over the peasantry, though this was subject to the supervision of Prussian officials. The changes that came about with Prussian rule were felt especially acutely by the lower echelons of the noble estate, who owned small scraps of land or nothing at all. During the Commonwealth, most representatives of this group had earned their living through military service, employment in courts of law or administrative offices, or by administering royal

Prologue: The Horses of Minister von Hoym

7

or church lands. They now had to seek other means of upkeep. Their position was exacerbated by the Prussian ban on nobles’ following a craft or trade under threat of forfeiting their noble status. The situation of minor szlachta was also made worse by the collapse of the existing clientele or patronage system. This had been an important element in the system of noble democracy. Powerful magnates had built their political positions on support from local szlachta. Scrambling for the support of these lesser nobles, they had lavished protection upon them, assisting them financially and employing them in their households or private military formations. After 1795, under absolute monarchy, political followings constructed in this way had become redundant, and were even eyed with suspicion by the new authorities. The courts of wealthy patrons, which until recently had welcomed szlachta clients, now offered protection and support less and less frequently. Townspeople likewise found many causes for dissatisfaction. The new government admittedly safeguarded the inhabitants of private towns from increases in liabilities imposed by their owners. The status of inhabitants of royal towns decidedly diminished, however, compared with the status gained as a result of the reforms of the Four Years Sejm of 1788–92. The new prohibition on acquiring landed property as well as restrictions on career opportunities in the army and civil service provoked discontent among representatives of the burgher elite – wealthy merchants or better educated individuals who treated education and state service as a means of social advancement. All townspeople were affected by a steep rise in taxes. Their mood was not helped by the worsening economic situation of towns and cities in general. The drainage of inhabitants, seeking other sources of livelihood in the new circumstances, could be observed in the majority of towns, sometimes on a dramatic scale. Warsaw, a city of more than 100,000 inhabitants at the time of the Four Years Sejm, had only 61,000 in 1796. In the emptying towns, the demand for services diminished, turnover in trade decreased and manufacturing fell, cut off from its traditional market outlets. Only the early years of the nineteenth century brought improvement in the economic outlook.6 The situation of the peasants in the Prussian Partition remained much as it had always been. On the one hand, the new order brought an increase in financial obligations – such as higher taxes, compulsory services to the army or regular conscription. On the other hand, the introduction of a ban preventing peasants from being expelled from the land, or the possibility of official intervention in cases where estate owners were clearly abusing their seigniorial power, may indicate an improvement in the peasantry’s position in certain circumstances. The partitions of Poland altered the position of the Jewish population. Distinguished from other subjects by their religion, language, customs and dress, and enjoying their own self-government, Jews were perceived by the Prussian authorities as too different and too independent of state control. Hence, decisions were taken to prepare their integration and assimilation as quickly as possible. On the strength of the GeneralJuden Reglement (1797), Jews were deemed to be a separate estate deprived of full municipal and national rights. Jewish self-governance was abolished and jurisdiction over Jews transferred to magistrates’ courts, leaving only the management of religious affairs to the old organs of local Jewish community government. It was the intention of the Prussian authorities to subject Jews to tight control and ‘socialize’ them by,

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among other things, the compulsory learning of German and the requirement to adopt a German surname. In exchange for exemption from military service, they were burdened with a special tax. However, the ban on acceptance of Jews into town guilds as well as on their right to settle in towns, until then prohibited by former burgher privileges, was lifted. This led to a sharp rise in the percentage of Jews living in cities and towns.7 The events of 1792–5 were no doubt regarded with indifference or lack of comprehension by large swathes of the population. It is difficult to describe the reaction of the majority of peasants, townspeople and Jews to the Third Partition. To most circles involved in public life, however, above all the entire szlachta and town elites, the Third Partition came as a terrible shock. Some of the most emotional reactions to the Commonwealth’s collapse were recorded in the work of contemporary poets, subsequently designated ‘the poetry of national despair’. The partitions were portrayed as the triumph of lawlessness over innocence, an act of violence annulling national history, as well as a catastrophe with perhaps irreversible consequences. If – as many political writers maintained in the eighteenth century – a national community required state structures in order to exist, could a nation deprived of its own state actually survive?8 This was not merely an expression of a breakdown in the collective mood provoked by the disaster. The imminent demise of the Polish language and Poles’ national life was also apparent to outside observers. In 1803 a Prussian dignitary, reaching for examples from ancient history, recognized the denationalization of the Poles as ‘a fact to be expected in accordance with the normal course of events’. George Burnett, well disposed towards the Poles yet convinced when visiting Poland in 1805 that Polish would soon become a dead language, came to similar conclusions.9 Reeling from the catastrophic effects of the collapse of their state, ‘former Poles’ were confronted by a dangerous crisis in their communal identity. Seeking answers to the question of what had happened to their community, and who were its current members, only a minority decided to reject their Polish identity (political, that is, certainly not cultural) and consistently opt for another. Many others had to come to terms with their doubts about fundamental issues of collective consciousness: Would a unified community of former Commonwealth citizens survive the partitions? Did loyalty to the Polish nation take precedence over loyalty to the new rulers? The least susceptible to such dilemmas were steadfast advocates of continuing struggle to regain an independent state. This milieu consisted of political activists and officers from Kościuszko’s rising, many of whom, fearing repressions following its defeat, had taken refuge in France. For all its numerous divisions, this group was held together by shared faith in the sense of further struggle, as well as the belief that revolutionary France – recognized as the protector of all nations fighting for freedom – was the natural ally of the Poles. Émigrés in Paris canvassed for diplomatic and military support for a future rising in Poland, which was to be prepared by conspiratorial organizations working inside the country itself. The insurrectionists’ struggle was to be supported by Polish armed forces created outside its borders. Great hopes were attached to their establishment, also in propagandistic terms – Polish divisions fighting alongside France were to remind Europe of the constancy of Polish national aspirations. In addition, hopes were aroused by a change in Prussian policy. In 1795

Prologue: The Horses of Minister von Hoym

9

Prussia concluded a peace with France, which appeared to create opportunities for drawing Prussia into some kind of agreement for restoring Poland – even if it meant offering the throne of the recovered state to the Hohenzollerns. In 1797 émigré activists succeeded in establishing Polish legions to assist the Republic of Lombardy, a political entity created in the wake of Napoleon Bonaparte’s victories on the Apennine Peninsula. Their success was due to the perseverance and skill of former Sejm envoy Józef Wybicki and of General Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, a respected veteran commander of Kościuszko’s insurrection, who managed to convince Bonaparte of the idea of creating the Polish units. ‘Fellow Poles, hope is rising,’ he announced to his countrymen. By the spring of that year, in the ranks of two legions – in which a national uniform, commands issued in Polish and republican principles of egalitarianism were obligatory – there were already 6,000 soldiers recruited from among Polish prisoners of war taken from the Austrian army, as well as volunteer officers newly arrived from within the home country. The number of Polish military formations grew until 1801, when they counted 12,000 men under arms. In the course of a few years, the legionaries gained experience of armed combat in battles against the Austrians, Russians and armies of Italian states. News of their operations reverberated across their homeland, thus making it easier for émigrés to influence the hearts and minds of their countrymen. Another means of influence were the underground conspiratorial organizations. Apart from distributing pro-independence propaganda, they concentrated on mobilizing networks of contacts in the home country or organizing the departure of volunteer recruits to the legions. After a few years, the partitioning authorities succeeded in destroying the majority of underground organizations. From 1798 their activity was taken over by the Society of Polish Republicans [Towarzystwo Republikanów Polskich] created by activists associated at the time of Kościuszko’s rising with the so-called Polish Jacobins. They combined demands for the restoration of the state with calls for the social emancipation of peasants and townspeople, the spread of education and improvement in the civilizational level of the country.10 Hopes associated by supporters of the independence movement with France and with the legions reached their apogee during the campaign of 1800. The peace negotiations, ending with the signing of the Treaty of Lunéville in 1801, brought about a complete reversal in mood. They included no mention of Poland. Worse still, France and Austria officially renounced support for the internal enemies of the other side. For the Poles, this meant a decline in their hopes for French assistance and a threat to the continued existence of the legions. For Bonaparte, the legions had become a troublesome impediment to peaceful relations with Austria. Some Polish units were deployed to Saint-Domingue (modern-day Haiti) to suppress a slave revolt in the then French colony. The rest of the Polish soldiers remained under Dąbrowski’s command in the service of the Italian Republic, which did not augur well for furthering the Poles’ political cause. These decisions, which in practice liquidated the legions as representatives of the Polish cause, estranged many of the most persistent Polish adherents of France. A wave of resignations, handed in by officers outraged by Bonaparte’s behaviour, swept through the ranks. Most emigrants likewise lost faith in the sense of remaining alongside France, and the majority decided to return home to Poland. The belief that after the Peace of Lunéville, the Polish question had finally

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disappeared from the European political stage was also shared by conspirators at home. Following the signing of the treaty, the Society of Polish Republicans broke off its work. The political stabilization of the European continent after 1801 seemed to put an end to dreams of Poland’s restoration. An unknown reality awaited the returning legionaries and émigrés. To many it was a painful disappointment. Life in the lands of the former Commonwealth was already being conducted along unfamiliar lines. Even the most uncompromising opponent of the new order had to work out basic principles of how to live as ‘a good Pole’ under a foreign power, and then reconcile these with a life strategy that would facilitate a relatively peaceful existence in the new conditions. The extent of such adaptation varied from person to person. For some szlachta, their expression of civic virtue was a demonstrative flight into private life and splendid isolation, requiring a refusal to serve the new authorities. Not everyone, however, wished to follow that path. Hence, numerous Poles appeared at the courts of the partitioning monarchs ready to demonstrate their total loyalty, and seeking the support of powerful protectors in furthering their own careers or saving their threatened estates. Boycotting the partitioning state, as postulated by some patriots, was for many a high-minded slogan far removed from the humdrum reality of everyday life.11 Adaptation to post-partition realities may have been assisted by the revised policy of the Prussian authorities towards their Polish subjects. At first, towards the end of Kościuszko’s rising and immediately following its defeat, the Prussians introduced measures intended to intimidate Poles. After a time, however, the idea of limiting repression (confiscation of property and punishment by imprisonment) to the most active participants in the independence movement prevailed in Prussian government policy.12 This more lenient approach, however, did not fundamentally improve its image in the minds of Poles. It was not helped by memory of their lost state and the perfidious policy of Prussia in the years 1788–94, when it was Berlin that first allied itself with the Commonwealth in order to provoke conflict with Russia and a new partition, and then participated in suppressing Kościuszko’s rising. Similarly, their having to pay higher taxes than in ‘Polish times’ hardly inspired enthusiasm. The szlachta were put off the new order by their loss of influence over state affairs, and the town elites – by the blocking of mechanisms enabling social advancement. The new system required the appropriated lands to be brought under the control of an expanded bureaucracy run by Germans. To the average inhabitant, this meant communication difficulties with officials who did not understand Polish. Dissatisfaction was also provoked by high stamp duty and other fees demanded in courts and official departments.13 Newspapers, books and other printed matter were subject to strict censorship procedures. Most Poles reacted badly to a civil service that overwhelmed them with an avalanche of rules and regulations. Many of these, for instance the curious ‘procedure relating to mourning’, which described in precise detail obligatory mourning dress and compulsory symbols for individuals belonging to different social classes, created an impression of absurd pettiness – and it was such things that were doubtless most remembered.14 Many Poles therefore perceived the apparatus of power as a hostile and arrogant institution. However, to portray life in the Prussian Partition solely in terms of national oppression or bureaucratic nightmare would be a simplification. Some of the rulers’

Prologue: The Horses of Minister von Hoym

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measures gained recognition among those who were able to discern – beneath the avalanche of rules and regulations – attempts to ensure public order, improvements in sanitary conditions and health, and the security of subjects. As one historian, otherwise highly critical of the policies of the partitioning powers, observed years later, the Prussian government had raised taxes, but had not ruthlessly exploited the Polish lands. On the contrary, it had invested considerable sums in regulating the use of rivers, cleaning up towns and improving roads.15 Despite the restrictive censorship in South Prussia, books were published in the Polish language, including valuable editions of Polish literary classics. Periodicals devoted to literature or science were also able to reach more demanding readers. An institution whose influence transcended the borders of the three partitions was the Society of Friends of Science [Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk], founded in Warsaw in 1800, which set itself the goals of defending the Polish language, spreading knowledge of national history, as well as developing education and the economy in the Polish-speaking lands.16 Some Poles living in the Prussian Partition might have felt a degree of satisfaction for quite prosaic reasons. Prussia’s policy of maintaining peace after 1795 meant that landowners could take advantage of the demand for grain in Western Europe. The easy sale of large quantities of grain at high prices caused an increase in the value of landed estates. Thanks to this, owners acquired the possibility of raising easy credit in the form of mortgages offered by Prussian banks. Some of these credits were used to improve agricultural standards. The most visible result of the favourable economic situation, however, was the szlachta’s increased expenditure on consumer goods. The credit offered to landowners was attractive because of the low rate of interest; the interests of creditors, however, were secured by strict enforcement notices. Around 1805 the debtors’ situation began to deteriorate due to reductions in the export of grain. The shrinking income from sales made it difficult for landowners to pay off the enormous debts they had incurred in more favourable economic times. By the autumn of 1806, many indebted landed estates already found themselves in Prussian hands.17 The lack of political freedom undoubtedly caused many Poles to feel antagonistic towards Prussian rule. However, it was no accident that many émigrés and former officers of the legions decided after 1801 to adapt to life under the government of Frederick William III. This choice was determined by the positive economic outlook as well as by the relatively mild policy of the authorities towards Poles. The hopes of some were briefly raised by the plan of Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, friend of Tsar Alexander I, who fulfilled at that time the function of Russian foreign minister. His aim in 1805 was to force still neutral Prussia to join the coalition with Russia and Austria against France. In case of Prussia’s refusal, Russian troops would cross the border into the Prussian Partition. Czartoryski reckoned that this action could eventually lead to Alexander I declaring himself King of Poland. The reluctance of Alexander and his generals to confront the Prussian army, which had the reputation of one of the strongest in Europe, caused the ‘Puławy plan’ to end in fiasco.18 News of the defeat of the Russians and Austrians at Austerlitz later in 1805 was greeted with satisfaction by many Poles, but did not reignite national enthusiasm or lead to a reactivation of underground conspiracy. The lack of visible success in any policy of resistance to the partitioning powers, as well as the prospect of continued stabilization of the existing

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The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

balance of power in Europe, inclined most Polish subjects to reconcile themselves – not always comfortably – to the reality of the partitions. The mood in the country, however, was far removed from the pessimism that had characterized the early years following the Third Partition. Catastrophic prognoses about the swift denationalization of the Poles no longer seemed so close to fulfilment. Symptomatic of the recovery in mood were the words of scholar Stanisław Staszic, slipped into an innocent lecture on mineralogy in 1805: ‘Even a great nation can fall, but only a dishonourable one will perish.’ Actual moods depended, however, on the immediate situations of individuals and groups. A wealthy nobleman assessed the Prussian government differently from a former lessee of royal lands who had been expelled from his property. In 1806, however, the court in Berlin could rest assured that it was totally in control of the situation in the annexed territories. The conspiracy movement had withered, while the numerous manifestations of discontent with the new order could usually be reduced to complaints against the omnipotence and extortions of the bureaucracy. Ten years after the homagium festivities, only the witness endowed with exceptional intuition might have recalled – as a good omen for Poles – that the horses pulling the carriage of Prussian minister von Hoym on his way to the ceremony had ‘become entangled and tumbled over’.19

1

‘Deliverer’ or ‘Conqueror’: Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

‘A mile from the town we noticed whole fields covered in individual soldiers wearing overcoats of different colours. They carried rifles with the butt-end pointing upwards and were seeking a dry passage across the fields, since the mud on the road was up to their knees.’ The sight of the French infantry invading the Prussian Partition in the autumn of 1806 surprised not only the eighteen-year-old nobleman Dezydery Chłapowski but also many other inhabitants.1 No doubt they had every right to feel surprised, not only by the sight of an army whose appearance and behaviour was far removed from the tightly uniformed and exemplarily drilled Prussians, but also because until very recently, few people had expected to see Napoleon’s soldiers in the Polish lands. They had been brought – following Napoleon’s recently concluded war with the Third Coalition – by the next dramatic about-turn in European politics. This time a new situation had arisen because of the intervention of Prussia, which had kept aloof from the conflicts shaking Europe for the past ten years. Prussia’s comfortable position as arbitrator, for whose support the remaining powers scrambled, could not be sustained for much longer. In July 1806 the German rulers allied with Napoleon created the Confederation of the Rhine under his protection. The French emperor’s domination of Germany was of great concern to the court in Berlin. The political earthquake came, however, with news of the peace negotiations between France and England, into which the Court of St James’s had been lured by Napoleon’s offer to return Hanover, previously promised to Prussia. Under pressure from the pro-war party, Frederick William III sent an ultimatum to Napoleon demanding the withdrawal of French troops from the German states and his consent to the creation of a confederation of north German states under the aegis of Prussia. No one in Europe was surprised by this demonstration of the Hohenzollern monarchy’s great-power aspirations, which could not be said, however, of its consequences. Notions of the Prussian army’s invincibility, dating back to the reign of Frederick the Great, lay in ruins following its double defeat at the battles of Jena and Auerstädt on 14 October 1806. The demoralized Prussians, retreating towards the northern, southern and eastern fringes of the monarchy, opened up Napoleon’s road to Berlin and the territories further east – to lands absorbed by Prussia during successive partitions of the former Polish–Lithuanian state. The pursuit led by corps of the Grande Armée brought successive victories and tens of thousands

14

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

of prisoners of war. These defeats paralysed the Prussians’ will to fight to a degree rarely encountered in the history of warfare. Despite the near annihilation of the Prussian army, the outcome of the war was by no means settled. When on 4 November the clatter of hooves of the advanceguard of Marshal Davout’s corps resounded on the streets of Poznań, several hundred kilometres further east a Russian army of more than 60,000 was advancing from the Niemen River to confront the Grande Armée. Several days later it had already occupied areas around Warsaw and Pułtusk. Hot on its heels came another of the tsar’s armies estimated at a further 50,000 men. Their marching orders had been preceded by a letter from Alexander I to the Prussian king containing assurances of friendship and loyalty as an ally. Behind them lay Alexander’s political pragmatism – he was taking action to restore the balance of power in Europe and consolidate Russia’s role in maintaining it. The Russian invasion of the Prussian Partition seriously complicated Napoleon’s position and removed any prospect of a swift end to the war. The so far lightning campaign would turn into protracted, destructive operations during autumn and winter in an impoverished country a long way away from the Grande Armée’s operational base. Napoleon realized this time that the efficient supply of food, a well-organized logistical infrastructure as well as the possibility of replenishing losses in the ranks with thousands of new soldiers could have a much greater influence than usual on the progress of the war. In this situation, the attitude of the Poles to the invading units of the Grande Armée acquired special significance. Their support might enable the French emperor to carry out further military operations and ensure an advantageous position at eventual peace negotiations. The benefits of winning Polish hearts and minds did not interest only the Emperor of the French. Even before the start of the war, it had been regarded as essential in the entourage of Frederick William III to investigate the attitude of his Polish subjects towards Prussia, as well as the possibility of creating a Polish volunteer corps. When interrogated on the matter, Prince Antoni Radziwiłł, who was related to the royal family by marriage and an advocate of the restoration of Poland with a Hohenzollern on the throne, claimed that Polish volunteers would definitely join the ranks of the Prussian army if this military initiative was part of a political offer: Frederick William III was to declare himself King of Poland. A similar opinion was expressed by Count Feliks Łubieński, who was valued at the Prussian court as a loyal subject and was also consulted about Radziwiłł’s proposals. Following the battles of Jena and Auerstädt, however, Frederick William III thought more about saving his own crown than aspiring to another.2 The initiative in forwarding the Polish cause passed to the French emperor. Napoleon had considered the possibility of playing the Polish card earlier. Before the commencement of military operations, he had ordered a reconnaissance of lands that might become the theatre of war, including gathering important information about their history, geography and economic condition. Thanks to this, he had at his disposal a rudimentary, though superficial knowledge of Polish affairs.3 He undoubtedly valued Polish soldiers whom he had got to know during the campaigns in Italy and Germany in 1797–1801. Despite his flattering idea of Polish soldiers, Napoleon, on entering the Prussian Partition, was accompanied nevertheless by an image – formed on the

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

15

basis of his reading – of a country inhabited by illiterate peasants, an anarchic nobility attached to its freedoms and an all-powerful aristocracy. Napoleon’s preparations for possible engagement in Polish affairs were not confined to reading. Even before the battle of Jena, General Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, who at that time was commanding remnants of the former Polish legions in the service of Joseph Bonaparte, King of Naples, received an order to leave immediately for Napoleon’s headquarters. On arrival in Berlin, Dąbrowski had several brief interviews with Napoleon, during which the emperor mentioned how an invasion of the Prussian Partition by the Grande Armée might benefit the Poles. Napoleon was in no hurry to make any long-term declarations with regard to the Polish question. As yet he had no precise political plan of campaign; he was considering, however, various possible ways in which the situation might develop. In one of their conversations, Dąbrowski, when questioned directly by Napoleon about his gaining Polish support against the Prussians, told the emperor that it might be forthcoming, if the Poles were assured that such support would lead to the restoration of a Polish state. In addition, he suggested issuing an appeal that would prepare the Poles for the invasion of the Grande Armée. Dąbrowski also proposed that his émigré friend Józef Wybicki be brought to the emperor’s headquarters as someone well versed in economic and political matters. On 3 November, Dąbrowski together with Wybicki, who by then had arrived in Berlin, published an appeal to their countrymen, calling on them to grant Napoleon unconditional support: ‘I will see (he told us), I will see whether the Poles are worthy of being a nation. … Poles! To exist and have a fatherland depends on you: your avenger, your creator has appeared.’ The appeal was a call to action without any political guarantees from the French emperor. The only concrete thing it contained was an announcement that any Polish units would be armed by Napoleon. The support given to him was to be full and unconditional.4 Drafted in such a way, the appeal met Napoleon’s expectations perfectly. It was able to inspire the enthusiasm of the Poles without provoking at the same time conflict with neutral Austria, and left the emperor totally free to act as he pleased. He was ready to strike the strings of national aspiration, but with caution. In the December issue of the Bulletin of the Grande Armée, the emperor expressed himself sympathetically on the future of the Polish question, but in enigmatic terms: ‘Will the throne of the Kingdom of Poland be restored and will this great nation regain its existence and independence? … God alone, who holds the whole entanglement of events in his hand, can solve this great political problem.’5 The cautiousness of these formulations comes as no surprise, since we know that in the early months of 1807, Napoleon was already considering various options for solving the Polish question. French diplomacy at that time was sounding out the preparedness of Vienna to restore Galicia in exchange for Prussian Silesia, which could have made possible the reunion within one political state of the Prussian and Austrian partitions. Less advantageous to the Poles were the peace talks undertaken simultaneously with Frederick William III, during which the possibility of restoring the Polish lands to him was suggested in exchange for his abandoning Alexander I and concluding a separate peace treaty. The paradox of the situation lay in the fact that despite Napoleon’s crushing victories over the Prussian army, the intervention of Russia meant that the war had to be begun all over again in conditions that were much more difficult than

16

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

a few weeks earlier. Without going into the detail of the disputes between Napoleon’s critics and apologists, it is worth noting that while he took advantage of the trump card offered him by Polish support, he did not overstep the boundary between political pragmatism and total cynicism. He categorically advised Polish patriots in the Austrian Partition not to provoke an uprising in Galicia. He also did not exploit a proposal put forward by former Polish republicans for armed action in the rear of the Russian army.6 While skilfully fanning their hopes, Napoleon in fact promised the Poles nothing – apart from an opportunity which they could try to turn to their advantage. The rest depended on themselves and the still uncertain outcome of the war. In summoning their compatriots to intervene against Prussia without knowing Napoleon’s plans for the Prussian Partition, Dąbrowski and Wybicki took an enormous risk. They knew, however, that the course of the war had created an opportunity, of which supporters of Polish independence had been dreaming for years. A different approach was adopted by Tadeusz Kościuszko, then residing in France. His name continued to have a magical effect on his countrymen and might have given impetus to the campaign begun by Dąbrowski and Wybicki. Well aware of this, Napoleon ordered his ministers to have him brought to Poland. The former leader of the 1794 insurrection, however, declared his readiness to head the pro-Napoleonic party only if the emperor issued a proclamation announcing that the aim of the struggle about to commence was the restoration of Poland and the granting of liberty to Polish peasants. Napoleon’s refusal to agree to such a clear definition of the political aims of the war, not hard to foresee, meant that Kościuszko, who was sceptical of the emperor’s real intentions with regard to the Polish question, remained on the sidelines.7 Dąbrowski and Wybicki realized time was pressing and the success of their campaign required immediate action. Thus, they prepared letters to be sent to their most trustworthy and influential compatriots in the Prussian Partition – former members of the Sejm, generals and former officers of the legions. They urged them to declare themselves on Napoleon’s side for the sake of a chance to restore Poland, and to immediately form a provisional civil authority and army. They also emphasized the need to maintain order and especially to secure magazines and public revenues, as well as to give Napoleon’s invading troops a good reception: ‘Let us spare no expense in satisfying their needs.’8 The general and his friend had no idea what results their appeal distributed by dispatch riders would bring. A cool reaction, especially from significant individuals, would wreck their plans. Any fears as to the reaction of their countrymen were dispelled on 6 November in Poznań. As Wybicki recorded: ‘Many worthy citizens, having unharnessed the horses, dragged our carriage as far as the door of the house where we were to stay.’9 Consultations between the new arrivals and representatives of the local elite present in the town resulted in the appointment of a provisional administration and Poles’ taking control of the judiciary. The Polish administration, the creation of which Wybicki took upon himself, had to immediately attend to the collection of taxes, efficient functioning of the postal service, amassing of food supplies and animal fodder, as well as provision of billets and field hospitals for the approaching corps of the Grande Armée and the Polish units formed by Dąbrowski.

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

17

The Prussian authorities reacted sharply to the news from the Poznań and Kalisz regions by issuing strict instructions. According to the publicandum published by Frederick William III in November 1806, only ‘a fraction of wrong-headed szlachta’ were taking part in the ‘insurrectionary disturbances’ and intending to ‘lead the country into chaos and extract, with the blood of their fellow citizens, criminal gains for themselves from the devastation wrought by civil war’. It also recalled the numerous benefits the ruler had brought to ‘the people of South Prussia’ and ‘his constant efforts to improve the state of the country and make it flourish in ways never known before’. Participants in anti-Prussian actions were threatened with court martial and the death sentence by firing squad.10 Despite fears that declarations against the Prussians might be seen as treasonable, the end of Prussian rule was greeted enthusiastically by numerous groups of townspeople, lesser and middling szlachta, young people, as well as veterans of Kościuszko’s campaigns and the legions. With time, some highly significant individuals were also persuaded to participate in the new regime. News of the events in Poznań, along with copies of Dąbrowski and Wybicki’s appeal, circulated across the whole region with lightning speed, reaching even outlying areas. In November, in cities and towns of the Wielkopolska region (around Poznań and Kalisz), armed units organized by former officers or local leaders of the nobility and consisting of their neighbours, servants, townsmen and peasants seized power. The success of their operations was down to efficient organization. They also managed to take advantage of a propitious situation. In the localities they now occupied, there were no longer any sizeable Prussian forces, while the Russian corps moving westwards had not yet arrived. The disarming of the few remaining Prussian units and the seizure of public revenues and administrative offices took place in an atmosphere of patriotic euphoria. Black eagles were torn down from government buildings and replaced by white ones, services of thanksgiving were held in churches, while assemblies of the szlachta hastily passed motions sanctioning the uprising and declaring their trust in Napoleon as the protector of the Polish cause. The patriotic enthusiasm, on which advocates of the emerging pro-Napoleonic party were reckoning, was not dampened by Napoleon’s enigmatic statements on the question of Poland’s future during audiences with representatives of the aristocracy and other nobility in Berlin and then Poznań, which Napoleon entered on 28 November. The anticipated words about the restoration of Poland were uttered, but couched in numerous reservations. The emperor spoke chiefly about the need to make intense preparations for war, the uncertain course of which did not allow political commitments to be laid down in advance. The restitution of the Polish state was seen, however, as a real prospect. He could hardly ignore the fact that the Poles, who according to the stereotypical image were a light-minded and anarchic nation, had begun to create a competent administration, judiciary and army, thus leaving little room for doubt that they were ‘worthy to be a nation’. The enthusiasm shown towards him at every step must also have influenced the emperor’s attitude to the Polish cause. As soon as he arrived in the capital of Wielkopolska, Napoleon realized that events had placed him in a delicate situation. Too active an engagement in the cause of restoring Poland threatened relations with Austria, which had so far remained neutral, and could complicate future peace negotiations with Russia and Prussia. On the other

18

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

hand, abandoning support for Polish national aspirations would discourage the Poles and make his conduct of the war more difficult. He was therefore obliged to play the Polish card, but carefully.11 Napoleon’s decisions regarding the Polish question may also have been influenced by the attitude of the inhabitants of Warsaw. As the only centre pretending to the status of a large city, the old capital continued to play an important role in the economic, cultural and – what was no less critical – social life of the Prussian Partition. In the Warsaw salons, which were frequented by the social elite of the former Commonwealth, the names of Dąbrowski and Wybicki, although known, counted for less than they did in Wielkopolska. Reaction to their Berlin appeal in opinion-forming circles of the former capital might prove to be the most difficult test of the effectiveness of the proNapoleonic campaign. Accurate information about events in Wielkopolska first reached Warsaw in the second half of November along with the emissary bearing the appeal. He handed it in secret to individuals in positions of authority renowned for their patriotism. By then, the Prussians had left the city. Care of ‘public safety’ had been entrusted by Frederick William III to Prince Józef Poniatowski. The forty-three-year-old nephew of the last king of Poland and commander-in-chief during the war against Russia in 1792 did not enjoy a good reputation among respected patriots. He had spent the years following the collapse of the state at his private home in Warsaw known as the Tin-Roofed Palace [Pałac Pod Blachą], thus consolidating his reputation as a cosmopolitan aristocrat, bon viveur, connoisseur of women, and protector of a group of young aristocrats known as the ‘golden youth’, whose antics shocked many of Warsaw’s inhabitants. This evidence of trust on the part of the Prussians put the prince in an awkward position; thus he took up the duties entrusted to him only when requested to do so by a deputation of townsmen.12 He did not remain in charge of public order in the city for long. On 27 November the first French regiment entered the city. The appearance of the French prompted an eruption of enthusiasm from the inhabitants. Marching through the cheering crowds, the unit was showered with flowers. People kissed the chasseurs’ horses, ‘wine, vodka and various foods were brought before the gates, and the crowd grew so dense the troops had to halt, while officers and soldiers prepared to eat’. Generally ill-disposed towards guests in uniform, the townspeople on this occasion vied to outdo one another. Similar scenes were repeated the following day when subsequent cavalry regiments of the Grande Armée began to flow into Warsaw. That evening the cavalry commander of the Grande Armée, Marshal Joachim Murat, appeared in the city, impressing the throng of gawping onlookers with one of his theatrical uniforms. Prince Józef, coming to meet him at the head of a group of riders dressed in uniforms of the former Polish army, was heckled by the crowd. Hostile street reactions to Poniatowski made little impression on Murat – Polish aristocrat and son of a French innkeeper, both with reputations as bons viveurs and zealous cavalrymen, felt a distinct sympathy for one another. The welcome given to his units made an enormous impression on the marshal: ‘Sire, I have to tell you … about the euphoria that erupted today in Warsaw. … I am frankly unable to describe it, since never in my life have I seen such strongly expressed national spirit,’ he wrote to Napoleon. Perhaps it was on that very day the

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

19

idea, later supported by many of his Polish interlocutors, took shape in Murat’s mind, that he would be the ideal candidate to assume the throne of a Polish kingdom restored by Napoleon?13 During the days immediately following the entry of Napoleon’s troops into the city, the atmosphere of euphoria was upheld. Soon, however, the patriotic enthusiasm of the city’s inhabitants was severely put to the test. Gratitude to the tamers of the Prussians could not conceal the hardships and dangers associated with the daily surge into the city of an army of many thousand men. Hospitality spontaneously offered to the French in the initial days was soon replaced by compulsory billeting, arbitrary requisitioning and, worse still, pillage and rape. Varsovians who had cultivated the idea of a Frenchman ‘as always well-bred and courteous’, were uncomfortably obliged to revise their idealized image.14 Representatives of the Polish elite were offended not so much by the behaviour of ordinary soldiers, from whom they hardly expected sophisticated manners, but by the life style of many officers – often townsmen or peasants from the pre-revolutionary Third Estate whom Napoleon’s wars had elevated to the highest ranks of the army. Courage and competence did not always go hand in hand with refinement and bon ton, Marshal Murat himself being but one of numerous examples. Behind the scenes of the city’s social life, which aroused emotions in the inhabitants no less powerful than those inspired by news pouring in from the theatre of war, confidential consultations were underway. Murat sounded out opinion among representatives of the Polish aristocracy resident in Warsaw, whose attitude, according to Napoleon, was of crucial importance in gaining the support of Poles as a whole. Following these meetings, Murat informed the emperor that although the chief desire of influential personalities in the city was to regain their own independent state, they would not take an active stand against the Prussians unless Napoleon himself declared the independence of Poland and nominated a king. The emperor had no intention, however, of binding his hands by declaring such commitments. Conscious of his own supremacy over the Polish side, he instructed Murat: ‘My greatness does not depend on a few thousand Poles. It is in their interests to make the most of the current circumstances with enthusiasm. … Give them to understand that I am not coming to beg a throne for one of my family; I’ve got enough thrones.’15 The organization of the pro-Napoleonic party gathered momentum with Wybicki’s arrival in the city. In the days following his arrival, he visited the most important individuals in turn, trying to convince doubters of the opportunity presented to the Poles by Napoleon’s invasion of the Prussian Partition. His interlocutors turned out to be significantly less prone to outbursts of unconditional enthusiasm for the French emperor. Wybicki, although well known as a former member of the Sejm, émigré and author of the legionaries’ song ‘Dąbrowski’s Mazurka’ (later to become the Polish national anthem), was not a person securely established in the city’s elite circles. After a few days, however, his powers of persuasion, reinforced by the authority of the recently arrived Stanisław Małachowski, universally respected as the former marshal of the Four Years Sejm of 1788–92, produced results. On 5 December, on the strength of a decree issued in Napoleon’s name, Murat called into being the Supreme Chamber of War and Public Administration, which was to be entrusted with administering and controlling former Polish lands now occupied by Napoleon’s troops. It was composed

20

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

mainly of representatives of the nobility renowned for their activities in the reform party of the Four Years Sejm as well as in the civilian leadership of the Kościuszko Insurrection. Among the appointees were several individuals associated at one time with the radical group known as the Polish Jacobins. Representatives of the most important noble families continued, however, to show restraint. As Murat observed, while the majority of the szlachta and former soldiers demonstrated readiness for action, ‘the great lords’ demanded political guarantees, asking: ‘Why should we, before we are made acquainted with the Emperor’s intentions, be influenced by a proclamation issued by a few military emigrants … who have nothing to lose, provoke an uprising and risk our well-being and that of our children? … We are prepared to give everything, but … give us a king and let us have our most recent constitution.’16 Assessment of the opportunities and potential dangers associated with supporting Napoleon required weighing up the risks of engaging on his side, despite the lack of any clear declaration on his part concerning the Polish question, against the emperor’s military might and strength of collective emotion aroused by his victories. Leading nobles aspiring to be national political leaders and military commanders also remained under their spell. They could also not ignore the outpouring of patriotic enthusiasm among a huge proportion of Polish society. What was more, putting off a decision about active engagement on Napoleon’s side might lead to the group of former republicans and legionaries assuming power. Dąbrowski, who enjoyed unquestioned authority and popularity among townsmen and minor nobles, had emerged as the latter’s natural leader. Because of his services so far rendered and Napoleon’s trust in him, many regarded him as the natural candidate for commander-in-chief. In aristocratic salons, the general was seen to be too independent of the country’s political elite and too closely connected with the emperor. Representatives of the Warsaw aristocracy, among them Stanisław Kostka Potocki and Stanisław Małachowski, expected their circle to be guaranteed influence over internal politics and participation in the new civil administration and formation of a Polish army. The only commander seriously considered by this group was Prince Poniatowski. Considerably less popular than Dąbrowski, and often unfairly criticized for his ‘coldness’ towards the national cause following the Third Partition, the prince had had a great deal of military experience as commander of the army during the war against Russia in 1792. Among the aristocracy, the prince was regarded as ‘one of their own’, a patriot with conservative views, and critically disposed towards the French revolutionary tradition. Initially, Poniatowski put off his decision to commit to Napoleon’s side despite pressure from his own milieu, from Murat and even from Wybicki, who was convinced the presence of ‘great names’ in the emerging Polish administration and army might carry weight in Napoleon’s decisions regarding the Polish question. It is hard to discern what had the greatest influence on Poniatowski’s change of mind: appeals to his honour and feelings of patriotic duty; the challenge to redeem his family’s reputation, weakened during the reign of his uncle, who had been accused of subservience towards Russia; or the prospect of losing his superior position in the line of command to Dąbrowski, which would have been galling to the prince’s pride. Eventually, however, on 6 December, while Dąbrowski was making his triumphal entry into the city, Prince Józef declared in a letter to Murat his readiness to participate

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

21

in organizing the Polish army – without demanding any concrete guarantees to the Poles from Napoleon.17 Many aristocrats and wealthy nobles from the Prussian Partition soon followed his example. The anxiety caused by the lack of any official declaration from Napoleon regarding the future of the Prussian Partition may have weakened the appeal issued on 2 December by the palatine [wojewoda] of Gniezno Józef Radzimiński calling the szlachta to arms in a general mobilization or levée en masse [pospolite ruszenie]. In the old Commonwealth, all nobles had been duty-bound to assemble in arms under designated commanders at times when the security of the state was threatened. This response to Napoleon’s repeated words: ‘je veux votre pospolite’ was intended to speed up the formation of the Polish units anticipated by Napoleon. Equally important, however, was its political suggestiveness. The appeal, which recalled former glories when ‘the Polish sword spread terror and panic among the country’s enemies’ issued by ‘Poland’s first senator’, contained a clear message: the aim of the operations was the regaining of political independence, and the newly formed units would be those of a national army, not Polish-speaking units of the Grande Armée. Support for these actions was also sought from spiritual leaders. One response was the letter sent by Primate Ignacy Raczyński to the clergy and faithful enjoining them to pray for the defenders of the fatherland.18 Engagement on Napoleon’s side did not mean an end to doubts. For many aristocrats and wealthy noblemen as well as the church hierarchy, the choice of the Napoleonic option also implied the risk of significant structural changes to a future regained state. In such circles, associated for the most part with the tradition of the Four Years Sejm, they believed that the political structure of the state and its social system should be based on the model of the Third of May Constitution. At the same time, they feared changes resulting from the possible introduction of constitutional and structural solutions modelled on those of France. On the other hand, the latter prospect inspired enthusiasm among former Jacobins and their sympathizers. The political ideas of this group, formed of educated lesser nobles and townsmen, had taken shape towards the end of the eighteenth century under the influence of Enlightenment political thought as well as the events of the French Revolution and Kościuszko Insurrection. By 1806, however, the views of former radicals were far removed from their revolutionary fervour at the time of the 1794 insurrection. The experiences undergone by many during their emigration and participation in underground conspiracy, as well as observation of the transformations taking place in France from the time of the Jacobin dictatorship, through the oligarchic republic of the Directorate to the Consulate and then imperial coronation of Napoleon Bonaparte, inclined them to believe it possible to reconcile the principle of strong authoritarian individual leadership with the preservation of the Revolution’s fundamental achievements. The political credo of this group was expressed in a letter to Napoleon by one of the Polish Jacobin leaders serving in the French army, General Józef Zajączek. A veteran of the campaign in Egypt, he expressed his hope that the emperor’s victories would lead to the restoration of Poland and open a new era in its history. A condition for this, however, was the introduction of fundamental structural changes: ‘The country needs a French constitution, the French civil and criminal codes, and above all a French king.’ Zajączek’s assessment of

22

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

the Third of May Constitution, in which the peasants had been ‘almost forgotten’, was critical: ‘The restorer of Poland will not suffer the Polish peasants to groan any longer under the yoke of slavery.’ Former republicans seemed on the surface to be a less influential milieu than aristocratic and other noble members of the Four Years Sejm renowned for their patriotism. In the situation that pertained following the Grande Armée’s invasion of the Prussian Partition, however, they had various trump cards at their disposal. Well educated, active and generally competent in action, the ex-Jacobins were often able to take advantage of former acquaintance with French marshals and generals from their émigré years. As experts on the country’s affairs, organizers of the logistical infrastructure or intelligence gatherers, they became highly valued collaborators. Access to commanders of the Grande Armée and their trust made it easier for the Jacobins to pursue their political struggle. Their warnings about the pro-Russian sympathies of the aristocracy, even though directed at French commanders and verging on denunciation, were meant to weaken the position of their rivals. Many, like Zajączek, were convinced that Hugo Kołłątaj, then living in the Russian Partition, should be made head of the new Polish authority. The former vice chancellor of the Polish crown [vicecancellarius regni Poloniae], well known as a publicist advocating reforms in the Enlightenment spirit, was reputed to have been one of the most gifted politicians of Stanisław August Poniatowski’s reign. His activities during the insurrection led many to suspect he intended to seize power from Kościuszko and steer the national insurrection onto a revolutionary course modelled on the French. In the opinion of moderate patriots, however, the ‘Polish Robespierre’ was also saddled with the actions of the Polish Jacobins who surrounded him, and who had incited a mob lynching of collaborators with Russia in Warsaw in 1794.19 At the beginning of December 1806, despite the engagement of all significant Polish interest groups on Napoleon’s side, the direction that political affairs would take within the country remained an enigma. The anticipated arrival of the emperor was expected to bring a solution. Developments in the military situation finally brought him to Warsaw. The main theatre of war at that moment lay to the north, at no great distance from the city boundaries. Heralded by Wybicki’s appeal to the inhabitants of Warsaw as the ‘Emissary from Heaven, Avenger and Saviour’, the emperor appeared in the city during the night of 18–19 December escorted only by his Mameluke bodyguard. His arrival incognito enabled Napoleon to avoid participation in any ceremonies enthusiastically prepared to welcome him. The emperor strove to arouse the patriotic fervour of the Poles, but at the same time to distance himself from it for as long as he possibly could. Winning over their hearts was less important to him than preparing a supply network for the army. He began his audience with a Polish deputation led by Małachowski with a brutal reprimand criticizing the bad organization of quarters and supplies. The Warsaw elite were disappointed by the emperor’s reticence on political questions. Lacking any clear guarantees as to the restoration of Poland, they had to content themselves with Napoleon’s elusive assertion that France had never approved the partitions of Poland in any peace treaty. The emperor’s almost total concentration on matters of war elicited many bitter comments from the Polish side.

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

23

In December 1806, however, he had many good reasons to view the development of events with concern.20 After a five-day stay in Warsaw, the emperor set out to take personal command of a strike on the Russian forces under Bennigsen. The Russians were repulsed to the north of Warsaw. In order for the operation led by the emperor between the Wkra and Narew rivers to be totally successful, a further attack was necessary, supported by the corps under Bernadotte then approaching from the west. Closing the chain of encirclement strung out by corps of the Grande Armée proved unsuccessful, however, due above all to unusually adverse weather conditions. The torrential rain falling in turn as snow transformed the roads into a sea of mud, into which sank columns of infantry, wagons, cannon and cavalry horses. On 26 December corps of the Grande Armée confronted their adversaries at Pułtusk and Gołymin. In both battles the Russians, who had occupied strong defensive positions, resisted the determined attacks from Napoleon’s forces, only to abandon their posts in the evening and begin the retreat. Both sides suffered significant losses, but both also declared their victory. Although the Grande Armée had succeeded in pushing the enemy back towards the north-east, the Russian forces retained their combat capacity. Both sides encamped in their winter quarters.21 Napoleon’s decision to halt operations was dictated both by weather conditions and by concern for his soldiers. His army was exhausted by onerous marches in the cold on empty stomachs. The ranks had been decimated due to losses in battle and diseases spreading among the emaciated and malnourished soldiers. Despite the efforts of the new Polish-run administration and ruthless arbitrary requisitioning, soldiers starved in an impoverished country, already plundered at an earlier stage by retreating Prussians and Russians. The conditions in which they had to fight did not inspire any particular sympathy for the country they had liberated. Davout’s Polish adjutant recalled: ‘As we marched, we had to wade through mud up to our knees, almost everyone shouted: “Agh, what an accursed bog, and they call it their fatherland!”’ Napoleon himself spoke of a ‘fifth element’ specific to Poland: mud. As the most easterly territory in which the Grand Armée had thus far seen action, Poland shocked the soldiers by how much it differed from countries with which they were familiar. On his way to Napoleon’s quarters, the young aristocrat Anatole de Montesquiou heard tales from a returning officer of the ‘wretched land’ where Polish counts clad in animal skins ‘sit in their wooden huts, which they call palaces’. Negative stereotypes of a wild uncivilized land and its barbaric inhabitants ceased to have an effect, however, as soon as the soldiers encountered the – not uncommon – hospitality and self-sacrificing generosity of the Poles. With time, many of the liberators came to value their patriotism, honour and courage, and above all – the beauty of Polish women. ‘With respect to their level of civilization and education, Polish ladies maybe surpass the female inhabitants of the great European capitals. As they do with the colour of their complexions, whiteness of their teeth, glint in their eyes, and figures,’ observed one French officer. In Napoleon’s entourage, however, there was no shortage of opinions unwilling to engage with Polish issues. Marshals Berthier, Augereau and Lefebvre were all against the restoration of the Polish state when the price was to be further conflict with Russia and Prussia. Marshal Lannes, of whom Napoleon held a high opinion, claimed that Poland was a desert steeped in anarchy, because of the

24

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

constant struggles between warring factions. The French foreign minister Talleyrand regarded involvement in the affairs of a country ‘which is not worth the blood of a single French soldier’ as a political mistake. Among the highest-ranking French military and civic dignitaries, only Marshals Davout and Murat, and Secretary of State Maret, treated the national aspirations of the Poles sympathetically. For the majority of French officers and ordinary soldiers, the word ‘Poland’ became a synonym for a freezing hell. Many would also have appreciated the sentiment expressed by Maurice de Tascher, a cousin of Empress Josephine, who commented thus on his departure from the Vistula lands: ‘Farewell, infernal Poland!’22 Murmurs of dissatisfaction reached the ears of the emperor himself. The soldiers’ mood at the time gives us the epithet grognards (grumblers), with which the emperor, in conversations with soldiers of the guard at Pułtusk, dismissed the complaints of his old campaigners in typically matey fashion. Napoleon’s consciousness of his own influence over his soldiers allowed him to relieve the tense mood with a risky joke: ‘As he inspected the Polish 5th corps,’ Jakub Kierzkowski, serving on the staff of Marshal Lannes, recalled, ‘The soldiers shouted: “Papa, chleba!” (“Papa, give us bread!”). Napoleon did not understand what “chleba” meant. Captain Fałkowski was summoned to instruct him how to respond in Polish. Then as the troops marched past shouting “Papa, chleba!” he turned to them with a smile and answered in Polish: “Nie ma chleba!” (“There is no bread!”). Whereupon the enraptured soldiers cried: Vive l’empereur!’23 Napoleon could not afford to treat lightly information pouring in about the army’s falling morale. Operations conducted in extreme conditions undermined the esprit de corps of even the most renowned regiments. Another particularly alarming sign was the increasing number of suicides prompted by the hardships of the campaign. Napoleon therefore decided to sit out the winter, replace the losses in the ranks, and resume larger-scale operations only in the spring. He appeared in Warsaw again on the evening of 1 January 1807. This time, he discharged his role as Poland’s restorer with greater grace. As Talleyrand observed: ‘He did everything to rouse the nation’s military spirit – threw parties, balls, concerts, showed disdain for the Russians, demonstrated his pomp and splendour, spoke of Jan Sobieski.’ Warsaw was swept up in a whirlwind of gaiety. Along with Napoleon, it sucked in his marshals and generals recently arrived in the city, their adjutants as well as foreign diplomats. For a brief moment, Warsaw became the capital of Napoleon’s Europe, visited even by envoys from Turkey and Persia. Among the many attractions of the Warsaw carnival season, a ball given by Talleyrand was especially memorable. It was not the pomp of the ball, however, that became the chief target of gossip, but the quadrille danced by Napoleon with Marie Walewska marking the beginning of the emperor’s notorious affair with the twenty-year-old noblewoman. This was not just one of Napoleon’s passing fancies – the beautiful Pole was to become, if not his great love, then certainly one of the most delightful memories from all his wars and campaigns. As it excited the salons, the romance inclined many observers to seek from the beginning a political subtext to the emperor’s relationship. Certain Warsaw politicians similarly tried to exploit their beautiful countrywoman by encouraging her to shape Napoleon’s views on Polish questions. His intimacy with Marie may have

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

25

inspired the emperor with greater sympathy for Poland, but her influence over his crucial decisions should not be overestimated.24 The emperor’s break from war did not mean flight from politics. On 14 January Napoleon created in Warsaw a Ruling Commission [Komisja Rządząca]. His decision was not linked to any unambiguous declaration of Poland’s restoration, but it did go some way to meeting the expectations of the Poles. Its purpose was to guarantee the Grande Armée a more effective supply system than it had so far enjoyed. Composed of Poles, the Ruling Commission combined both executive and legislative powers. Consisting of seven members, it formed a General Directorate. It possessed complete authority over the judicial system, civil service, Treasury, army and internal affairs. It functioned according to a collegiate system. On the other hand, individual departments were run by single directors, in accordance with the Napoleonic system of government, appointed by the Commission and responsible to it. The venerable Stanisław Małachowski, surrounded by a halo of patriotism and public-spirited disinterestedness, became president. An important role was also played by the wealthy, influential and sophisticated Stanisław Kostka Potocki, recognized as one of the country’s outstanding politicians. Almost all members of the Commission as well as administrative directors came from aristocratic circles linked to the patriotic party of the Four Years Sejm. An exception was Wybicki, who enjoyed recognition more among the minor and middling szlachta. By the beginning of 1807, some of the Commission members and directors were already known for their involvement on Napoleon’s side as organizers of the new Polish civil service or army. In the new power set-up, there was no place for Dąbrowski, nor were positions found for the former Jacobin representatives. The entrustment of power over the Polish army and public institutions to the Ruling Commission meant that Wybicki and Dąbrowski ceased to be leaders of the national movement attempting to restore the Polish state with Napoleon’s support. The appointments indicated a shift in the configuration of power relations on the country’s political stage in favour of moderate patriots hailing from the aristocracy and wealthier nobility. Napoleon believed he had no need to seek the support of former legionaries and republicans, but that it was worth wooing instead the Polish aristocracy – if only to neutralize possible Prussian or Russian intrigues.25 The work of the Ruling Commission and its directors was hampered by the lack of a fully developed structure of regional and local authorities and by the initially unclear division between the functions and responsibilities of the emerging institutions. In the course of a few months, however, the Commission succeeded in organizing the foundations of an as yet non-existent state. The main concerns of the governing elite became the army and the local civil service, which was essential to the efficient creation of an army and its supply. Much attention was also devoted to financial matters as well as to organizing a judicial and educational system. By the beginning of 1807, in the territories liberated from Prussian rule, the provisional Polish authorities were up and running. Among those exercising power were not only declared supporters of Napoleon, who had come forward willing to participate at the first summons, but also others who, like Poniatowski, had made their decision ‘on mature reflection’. The patriotic movement spread throughout a land whose inhabitants, despite the devastation caused by war, agreed to invest enormous

26

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

sums of money in the creation of a Polish army and in provisioning the corps of the Grande Armée. Participation in this movement involved considerable risks. Risk was defined, on the one hand, by the Prussian proclamations, which were difficult to ignore since they warned of the death penalty for anyone found taking part in the uprising, and, on the other, by the lack of official guarantees from Napoleon, thus giving rise to suspicions that even after a victory for the emperor’s side, a subsequent peace treaty might still restore the lands of the former Prussian Partition to the rule of Frederick William III. The attitude of the Poles surprised many of the French, who assessed the military situation more coolly and regarded the Poles’ patriotic enthusiasm as not only over-exalted but even reckless in the extreme.26 The oppressive nature of Prussian governance was acknowledged as one of the reasons for this risky explosion of national enthusiasm. ‘We were no longer Poles, to use that name was already a crime’: the words of palatine Radzimiński’s appeal to his compatriots convey the tone of contemporary speeches, proclamations, patriotic sermons and verses. In the majority of these texts, the period of Prussian rule was portrayed as one of misfortune, persecution and national oppression.27 Former citizens of the Commonwealth certainly had reason to be dissatisfied with the actions of a government which, by imposing its own principles, totally disregarded Polish tradition and political mentality. Before 1806, however, many Polish subjects of Frederick William III, including former political émigrés, perceived certain merits in Prussian rule. The mood of patriotic euphoria accompanying the overthrow of Prussian power was not conducive, however, to more balanced assessments. In many contemporary public utterances, memory of Prussia’s betrayal at the time of the Four Years Sejm would return again and again, inscribing it once more into the alleged enduring perfidy of the House of Brandenburg, which, according to Wybicki, once ‘swore allegiance to us as a vassal, knelt before our kings, committed itself on its honour and faith to assist us in time of need, concluded an alliance with us. … Traitor! In the black book of its politics is entered the sentence of our undoing.’ Wounded national pride and memories of humiliations experienced at the hands of the perfidious ‘vassal’ no doubt influenced the mood.28 Collective emotions contributed enormously to Dąbrowski and Wybicki’s initial success. In Wielkopolska many recipients of their appeal knew them personally. Many former legionaries, who had settled in the Prussian Partition, responded immediately to the call. The vicissitudes in the life of Captain Cyprian Godebski, poet and legionary, who had found it hard after his return home to make ends meet as a publisher and author and had turned his hand unsuccessfully to trade only to end up as a tutor in the house of wealthy landowners, suggest that Napoleon’s invasion of the Prussian Partition inspired not only patriotic ardour in former legionary officers struggling with similar difficulties, but also their private hope of escaping the monotony of civilian existence and returning to a life filled with adventure and glory. The Prussian defeat also catapulted into action various individuals for whom the collapse of the Polish state had brought a reduction in social status, even former tenants of old crown properties evicted by the Prussian authorities. The summons to take a public stand against the Prussians also met with an enthusiastic reception among sections of the town population linked to the patriotic tradition of the Four Years Sejm and Kościuszko

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Insurrection, or among ordinary people hostile to a foreign power associated with high taxes and duties or the minute regulation of everyday life. Among those who risked coming out publicly on Napoleon’s side, however, were also former members of the Sejm and officials of local government institutions run by nobles, people known for their participation in the insurrection. Events at the turn of 1806–7 led to the revitalization of the pre-partition elite in the provinces. One may surmise that many of its representatives accepted the order and security that came with Prussian rule, but tolerated less easily the passivity it forced upon them. The active involvement of the local authorities and leaders of the nobility bears witness to the strength of their desire to rebuild their own state, but also to the fact that a powerful need to participate in matters affecting their country still remained intrinsic to the political mentality of the szlachta. The Prussian defeat together with Dąbrowski and Wybicki’s actions had enabled the recreation of the public space, destroyed by the partitions, but which could now be filled by civic functions appropriate to the habits and traditions preserved in that mentality. Along with the appearance of the provisional Polish government authorities, well-known symbols and institutions close to people’s hearts likewise returned, as did the style of political activity, including ‘confederacies’ [konfederacje], that is, armed associations created by local assemblies of the nobility. Spontaneous actions against the Prussians, in which a leader’s relatives, tenants and neighbours often participated, show how the tradition of the clientele system of noble patronage was similarly reactivated in the new conditions. The old political language was likewise reborn. Speeches and proclamations were full of the rhetoric of sacrificing blood and fortune, of appeals to valiant ancestors and sacred love of the fatherland, suggesting a link with an older (traditional) model of noble patriotism – not necessarily that of the Enlightenment. The movement in support of Napoleon, embracing ever-widening circles of nobles and townsfolk, was thus the result of the combined influence of several factors. These included both memory of the recently lost state and strength of national feeling, offended by enemies or by the clumsy actions of the Prussian authorities. Despite the tragic experience of the legions, a sizeable proportion of public opinion remained spellbound for a long time by Napoleon’s military genius, reinforced by his recent lightning victories over the Prussian army. These victories provided supporters of Napoleon with a spur to action; success was determined, however, by the sudden reawakening of the former political community, which more than ten years of Prussian rule had failed to eliminate. The lack of any viable political alternative also inclined many Poles to declare themselves on Napoleon’s side. For obvious reasons, Prussia could not provide one. Those contemplating the restoration of their state but who were sceptical or hostile towards Napoleon were drawn towards Russia. The relatively comfortable situation of the Polish szlachta in the Russian Partition, as well as news of Alexander I’s friendly attitude towards the Poles, meant that the young tsar was recognized by many already in 1805 as a suitable candidate for ‘saviour’ of Poland. Towards the end of 1806, such expectations focused – as they had a year earlier – on the person of Adam Jerzy Czartoryski. Friend and collaborator of the Russian emperor, Czartoryski likewise perceived in Napoleon’s invasion of the Prussian Partition a chance to restore a Polish

28

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

state – but this was to be achieved by Alexander, by exploiting the victories of the Russian army and the weakening of Prussia, and by calling on the support of Poles opposed to the Emperor of the French. Czartoryski planned a wide-ranging political and propaganda campaign aimed at attracting the Polish elite to Alexander’s side. It was to be topped by the declaration of Alexander as King of Poland and the swift organization of a Polish army to assist the Russians in the struggle against Napoleon. After several months of preparation, however, the tsar realized that the plan presented to him was too risky, that victories of ‘Orthodox knights’ over Napoleon’s armies remained in the land of make-believe, and that it would be difficult for him to rival the Napoleonic sympathies of the Poles not only in the occupied Prussian Partition but even within the borders of his own empire.29 The price that would be paid for choosing the Napoleonic option was by no means slight. The disasters and devastation usually accompanying military operations, the high cost of organizing a Polish army and also supplying Napoleon’s troops were initially of little significance in relation to the enthusiasm of the first days of freedom. Townsmen kissing the horses of the first French cavalry units did not ask themselves whose responsibility it would be to feed them. With the passage of time, the spontaneous generosity of the inhabitants was harnessed into compulsorily supplying food and forage, horses and carts; unforced hospitality offered to soldiers and officers was replaced by the onerous obligation to provide them with quarters; the behaviour of the liberators increasingly offended the inhabitants or filled them with fear, so that the pro-Napoleonic sympathies of many Poles were severely tested. The duty to sustain their numerous and demanding ally often fell on districts already devastated by retreating Prussian or Russian units. From the plundered villages and small towns lying along the route taken by the Russian army, able-bodied men were even abducted into military service. Even Prussian officials complained about the conduct of Russian soldiers who destroyed the countryside ‘in order to cover their march across the desert’. The situation was aggravated by the fact that military operations took place in regions that were economically poorly developed anyway, had a weak infrastructure, and where even in times of peace the inhabitants would have had enormous difficulty in supporting an army of many thousands. One of Dąbrowski’s subordinates described to him the situation in Toruń: ‘You can easily imagine, General, what it’s like here when tens of thousands suddenly descend without warning, without any opportunity for local people to prepare food, when up to a hundred and twenty soldiers have to be accommodated in a single house, and scores of houses have been abandoned by their owners.’ The position of inhabitants in smaller communities was even more critical. Another of Dąbrowski’s subordinates, informing him of the difficulty of feeding the cavalry and infantry stationed in one of the lesser towns, claimed that ‘consisting of forty cottages, [the town] is now feeding itself only on peas and cattle taken from peasant carts, while at the same time as they’re accommodating 1500 infantry and one hundred cavalry of our own troops, they’ve now got the constant march past of the French army’. The new Polish administration, still in its organizational phase, did not always cope effectively with the hardships associated with the passage of tens of thousands of soldiers. Despite numerous appeals and then threats to sequester landed estates,

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the local government administration succeeded at first in mustering only one-third of the food supplies demanded by Napoleon. The situation improved a bit when French military commissars began paying for supplies with money or salt. The proper functioning of the Polish administration was also hampered by the rather contemptuous failure to take it seriously by French soldiers and commanders or representatives of the French military administration. Complaints poured in from the provinces about the ‘oppression’ and intimidation of local officials by French troops and the ‘destructive spirit’ motivating them, swamping the desk of the Director of Internal Affairs, Stanisław Breza. Bavarian troops had a particularly bad reputation, although it seems that even famous French generals and marshals were unable to resist the temptation to steal, including d’Hautpoul and Lannes, who were reputed to have appropriated furniture and dinner services from the landowners who entertained them. The destructive passages of troops lasted longer than the war itself – in the summer of 1807, the passage of the 5th and 6th Corps of the Grande Armée alarmed the Ruling Commission. Many areas close to main roads were totally devastated: ‘Sometimes you met only old men sick from hunger and pale-faced women stretching out their hands to the passing military, crying for pity and help,’ as one volunteer newly arrived from Galicia recalled. Another volunteer had similar memories of the road to Warsaw: ‘In a village near the highway there were many abandoned cottages, stripped bare to fuel campfires. Nothing but lone chimneys stood out against the sky. Fallen horses lay on the road. Animal guts, torn to pieces by dogs, indicated a recent military encampment. Here and there lay an unburied human corpse.’30 Onerous services in kind, provision of billets for soldiers and the supply of horses and carts were causes of dissatisfaction to the Polish population almost from the start, yet the organization of a Polish army aroused enthusiasm. From the very beginning, it had as much as a political dimension as a military one – the speed with which the national army was formed as well as its size was to be a measure of Poles’ readiness to make sacrifices and growing maturity as a nation. In his conversations with Napoleon in Berlin, Dąbrowski assured him that the Prussian Partition was capable of raising 40,000 soldiers. This estimate must have lodged deep in the emperor’s memory, since several times in pronouncements to the Poles he repeated that the creation of an army of 30,000 to 40,000 was an essential condition for restoring Poland’s independence. Already by mid-November the provisional authorities in the Poznań Department had set about conscripting recruits. In accordance with their pledge to make patriotic contributions, landowners were obliged to clothe and provide these recruits with a monthly wage. Separate instructions applied to the provision of several thousand mounts for the cavalry as well as other horses for the artillery and supply trains. In following weeks, the authorities in the Kalisz and Warsaw Departments began to organize an army along similar lines. Smaller units, created spontaneously by leaders of local uprisings, also joined the emergent regular units. A significant reinforcement to the regiment of uhlans formed in Bydgoszcz was a group of soldiers from a Prussian regiment consisting of szlachta who had deserted from Prussian service once they heard of the formation of a Polish army. Regular units were likewise reinforced by units of the Guard of Honour which had been formed in Poznań and Warsaw from

30

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

among young aristocrats and wealthy landowners and had accompanied Napoleon from the initial moments of his sojourn in Poland. Intensive work on the organization of the army soon yielded results – at the close of 1806, Dąbrowski claimed he was in a position to march into battle at the head of almost 13,000 foot soldiers and officers. These calculations were certainly over-optimistic, since the orders issued by Napoleon in January were addressed to a force under Dąbrowski’s command of about half of this number. Regular conscription was supplemented by a proclamation convening a levée en masse [pospolite ruszenie] of the szlachta. It seems that some landowners were far from eager to leap onto horseback. From the company list of one district authority [powiat], it is clear that of the twenty-five noblemen who were obliged to participate, only nine estate owners or their sons could be found. The remainder, excusing themselves on account of illness or advanced age, furnished substitutes – no doubt minor nobles from their neighbourhoods. At a meeting in Łowicz – during which Dąbrowski appeared escorted by the insignia of past glories, including the sword of Jan III Sobieski – a force of about 6,000 cavalry assembled. The ranks of the newly raised units also contained volunteers from the Austrian and Russian partitions, who had risked crossing the borders illegally. Their number, which was hard to estimate, was not so significant as to seriously impact on the organization of the army; however, the example of compatriots ‘from beyond the cordon’ putting on Polish uniforms had an important moral dimension that demonstrated the unity of feeling among a large percentage of Poles separated by the partitions.31 Filling the ranks of the emergent units with recruits and volunteers did not signal an end to the problems involved in organizing the army. The inexperienced troops needed officers to train and lead them into battle – not only brave men, but competent ones. Many candidates applying to officer ranks found the latter condition considerably harder to fulfil. A telling example is a report from one of the officers of the pospolite ruszenie, in which he informs Dąbrowski that he was forced to stretch the general’s instructions when appointing as many as two adjutants: ‘And this is because I could not find a single person who combined proper military knowledge with knowledge of languages’.32 Ignorance of the French language among officers was a significant impediment in situations where they had to constantly cooperate with units of the Grande Armée. The majority of commanders, however, were surely more concerned about whether their officers had appropriate skills and experience in service. Such considerations determined the quality of training given, as indicated by the witness of Colonel Fiszer, a former legionary, who described the excellent preparation of two regiments in his brigade with some satisfaction, claiming that ‘fate has served me well since I have assembled a substantial number of fine former officers, and demonstrated with their help that within a month these regiments can be kitted out and drilled, as far as is possible in such a short space of time’. On the other hand, he gave a much grimmer assessment of other units, which had ‘officers, of whom a very large number have never served before and of whom very few are experienced and battleworthy’.33 This problem was felt especially in situations where army units had to be formed at lightning speed, since in addition to the lack of competence among officers, there

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was the disarray that often accompanies improvised operations. Loyal patriots were sometimes reduced to desperation, as confirmed in a report by the acting commander of troops being raised in one department: ‘It saddens me that even though this brigade has been in existence for a long time, there is still no order. … No officer here knows what rank he is; there is still no sergeant major, no non-commissioned officer; so far there is no list of people even, and as a result I have no idea how many there were or how many there should be.’34 There was doubtless no lack of similar situations. Positions of commanders and high-ranking officers in the units being raised were usually taken by aristocrats or wealthy landowners, who had invested substantial sums of money in their organization. Despite their civic sacrifices and enthusiasm, the regiments’ founders or young nobles occupying lower officer ranks were often not up to such basic tasks as organizing and training the soldiers under their command. Antoni Białkowski, a second lieutenant in an infantry regiment formed at the time, recalled an officers’ ‘theoretical’ training session, during which the instructor, ‘having shown us a particular manoeuvre with the help of lines and balls representing various moves, ordered one of the officers to repeat it. From the captains down to the youngest men, none was capable of even commencing the manoeuvre.’ Exceptions to the rule were like gold dust. The teenage Dezydery Chłapowski, who had trained at the Berlin artillery school, was entrusted with teaching drilling exercises to the Poznań Guard of Honour because its commander ‘didn’t know how to do it himself ’, since his only experience during the 1794 insurrection had been as adjutant to one of the generals.35 Although full of the best intentions, inexperienced newly appointed officers required the support of superiors and subordinates with essential skills. A large proportion had been officers in the army of the former Commonwealth, but because they had not served in an army since the fall of the Polish–Lithuanian state, their officer training had not adequately prepared them for active service. Volunteers with officer’s credentials, who had served in the armies of the partitioning powers, were usually better qualified. Most highly valued, however, not only in Dąbrowski’s immediate circle, was the competence of former legionaries, who had gained experience in Napoleon’s campaigns of 1797–1800 and were familiar with French tactics, orders and methods of training soldiers. Despite requests from the creator of the legions, Napoleon would not agree to 3,000 legionary soldiers and officers then serving in the Kingdom of Naples being sent on detachment to join the new Polish army; he ordered only thirty officers to be recalled home. Forgetting old quarrels and resentments, some of Dąbrowski’s former subordinates, however, who had returned after 1801 to the Prussian Partition, responded to the appeal from their commander. They assumed command of the forming brigades and regiments or took up positions of crucial importance in the organization of the army and training of soldiers – in 1807 they made up 45 per cent of majors, squadron leaders and battalion leaders. As a result, the officer cadre was made up of different groups with varying experience and levels of expertise.36 The various routes by which officers joined the restored Polish army were likewise reflected in the careers of its three highest-ranking commanders, all of whom once served under the command of Kościuszko. After the defeat of the insurrection, Dąbrowski served with his legionaries in Lombardy, the Cisalpine Republic, other parts of Italy and eventually Naples, participating in all the campaigns of 1797–1805

32

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

against the Austrians, Russians and armies of Italian states. Józef Zajączek, after spending several months in an Austrian gaol, joined the French army and took part under Bonaparte’s command in the Italian campaign, the Egyptian expedition and the campaign of 1805. Poniatowski, in contrast, had been leading the relatively peaceful life of a civilian, consistently declining to take up military service, although the rulers of both Prussia and Russia had ‘honoured’ him with the rank of general in their armies. Beginning in January 1807, the three former comrades-in-arms – though certainly not friends – took command of the new Polish army, which was divided into three legions (or divisions): the new Poznań Legion led by Dąbrowski, the Kalisz under Zajączek and the Warsaw under Prince Józef. Each legion was to be composed of about 9,000 soldiers, grouped into four infantry regiments, two cavalry regiments, three companies of artillery (including eighteen cannon) and one company of sappers. The responsibilities of the separate legion commanders and the official relationship between them were never clearly delineated – even when Poniatowski took up his post as Director of War of the Ruling Commission, his paramount position was never fully accepted by Dąbrowski and Zajączek. The complications and tensions that arose as a result, affecting matters of service and prestige in the months to come, caused numerous conflicts between the three highest-ranking generals.37 Quarrels between the commanders did not paralyse, however, the organization of the newly formed army. The rapid pace of its formation was nevertheless bought at enormous cost and caused innumerable difficulties. Despite the best will and commitment of their officers, several of the units marching into battle only a few weeks after they had been formed were not ideally prepared for the hardships of war. Military perfectionists, particular about every detail of army training and uniform, were put through a difficult ordeal. The winter respite from war planned by Napoleon was shorter than expected. In the first days of January, military operations were resumed. Action came largely as a spontaneous response to French and Russian commanders seeking better winter quarters and supplies for their troops. For both sides, the war, fought in extremely harsh conditions, was not only a war with strategic aims, but one over food and lodgings. As he analysed the reports pouring into his headquarters, Napoleon perceived an opportunity to end it. He did not succeed, however, in forcing the cautious Bennigsen to fight a pitched battle. Only after several days’ retreat along snow-blocked roads did the Russian commander decide to fight a defensive battle at Eylau (7–8 February 1807). The desperation of the fighting soldiers, the intense frost, the blizzard, in which even the most experienced commanders lost any sense of direction, as well as the famous cavalry charge by Murat’s squadrons, ensured that the battle became the stuff of legend, a symbol of the struggles waged in the extreme conditions of the ‘first Polish war’. Bennigsen’s army withdrew overnight towards Königsberg – bloodied but not crushed. Just as at Pułtusk a few weeks earlier, Napoleon was victor on the battlefield, achieving once more a propaganda success, but one which cost him enormous losses and did not alter the course of the war. This time the cessation of operations in the north-eastern theatre of war was to last until May. While Napoleon and Bennigsen were reassembling their forces after the slaughter at Eylau, operations begun by Napoleonic troops to the west to cleanse Pomerania of Prussian forces continued. The Prussians were driven into the strongholds of

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

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Kolberg (Kołobrzeg), Graudenz (Grudziądz) and Danzig (Gdańsk). The legion led by Dąbrowski saw action when it took Dirschau (Tczew) on 23 February. The first victory won by Polish soldiers was greeted with great enthusiasm by public opinion, without it dwelling too long, however, on the plunder carried out against the town by the occupying Poles, with Dąbrowski’s approval. Such punishment for active participation by the civilian population in the defence of their town was recognized in those days by military law.38 In the following months, Polish units participated in the sieges of Danzig and Kolberg. Other Polish forces protected the lines of communication of the Grande Armée along the Omulew, Narew and Bug rivers. Meanwhile, a regiment of former legionary uhlans returning from service in Naples distinguished itself in skirmishes with the Prussians in Silesia. Recent and former services rendered by units with a legionary background caused Napoleon to ultimately keep such experienced personnel for his own purposes; despite the expressed will of many to return to Poland, he kept them in the service of his brother Jérôme Bonaparte, King of Westphalia. From the spring of 1808, this regiment of uhlans and three infantry regiments, formed around a skeleton group of veteran legionaries, was renamed as the Vistula Legion, transferred to French employ and dispatched shortly afterwards to fight in Spain. In addition to the larger formations and units of the Polish army, individual detachments of the nobility’s pospolite ruszenie also took part in operations in support of the Grande Armée. It is difficult to estimate the number of Polish officers serving on the staff of individual corps or groups of volunteers. Among these was Napoleon’s Guard of Honour formed in Warsaw by the young aristocrat Wincenty Krasiński. Later (in April 1807), many of its members would don the uniform of the 1st Polish Chevauléger (Light Cavalry) Regiment of the Imperial Guard, also formed in Warsaw.39 It is hard to establish the number of soldiers successfully recruited into the ranks. Sources often do not take into account the fluctuations in numbers caused by losses, disease, desertion and changes to the service assignments of smaller units. We may assume that by January 1807 there were about 24,000 soldiers in arms. The number of these who actually took part in the campaign of spring 1807 is reckoned to be upward of 18,000. Even the best informed had no precise information at their disposal. In his report compiled after the war, Prince Józef observed that because of the ‘disorder’ accompanying the formation of the army, he could only estimate the number of soldiers passing through the ranks under his command as somewhere exceeding 50,000.40 The lack of complete information concerning the size of the army is not surprising. With the hurried entry of Polish troops into action, the problems of their formative phase became evident with renewed force. The physical condition of the soldiers and their morale were constantly undermined by the poor supply of food. During April, Zajączek’s modest division dwindled from 10,000 to 6,000 soldiers. He described the dramatic effects of starvation in a letter to Wybicki: ‘When a soldier receives no meat or bread for three days, he throws down his weapon and goes wherever his hunger drives him, or ends up in hospital. So far he has survived as best he can by digging up buried potatoes or snatching cattle from neighbourhoods defended by the enemy.’ These were not isolated cases. The newly formed units were also depleted by thousands of cases of desertion. Prince Józef, questioned by Napoleon in May about slackness prevalent in the army, referred to a report by the army’s chief doctor in which he pointed to lack of

34

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

food and bad living quarters.41 The hunger and cold, in which inexperienced soldiers had to carry out operations, threatened to reduce the army to a band of robbers. The fact that, despite this, commanders succeeded in keeping men in the ranks and leading them into battle is proof of the soldiers’ endurance; above all, however, it testifies to the quality of the officer class which, despite limited experience, managed to motivate their subordinates and maintain discipline. As the weather improved, both warring sides began preparations to resolve the outcome of the war. Bennigsen, whose offensive at the beginning of June had forced an advanced corps under Marshal Ney to retreat from the positions it was occupying, made the first move. On 13 June, near Friedland, the Russian commander participated in a skirmish, which resulted in a pitched battle the next day. This time Napoleon’s victory was total. The Russian losses were estimated to be no less than 20,000 men, which was about a third of Bennigsen’s army. Dąbrowski’s legion took part in this battle, the first time his soldiers had been involved in such a gigantic clash. The division lost several hundred killed and wounded, but gained the praise of Lannes, Mortier and Napoleon himself.42 News of the victory, announced in Warsaw by the beating of drums and celebrated with a military parade through the city, inspired euphoria. Although many people expected Dąbrowski to then invade the territory of Lithuania and liberate still more lands of the former Commonwealth, news of the commencing peace negotiations did not spoil their mood. During the negotiations, Napoleon, in the general supposition of most Poles, would at last reveal himself as the ‘restorer’ of Poland. Napoleon had wanted for some time to conclude the longest and bloodiest of his expeditions to date. The outcome of the battle of Friedland also resulted in Alexander I attending the negotiations. There were several reasons for his appearance: the deplorable state of the Russian army, enemy corps stationed on the borders of his empire, and the dangerous mood of the Polish nobility in the Russian Partition, whose leaders had been in contact with Warsaw and declared their readiness for an uprising.43 The Russian ruler was not in a position at that moment to win a war. Moreover, his latest defeat could have cost him his throne, and – as feared by some in his entourage mindful of the fate of Paul I – even his life. There was nothing left other than to sit down at the negotiating table with Napoleon, or rather set foot on the raft anchored in the middle of the Niemen River separating the two armies, which became the site of the negotiations between the two emperors. Witness accounts confirm the warm atmosphere in which the talks took place. The setting of the deliberations in this case played an important role. Napoleon’s courteousness enabled the tsar to overstep the dividing line between negotiations for ending the war and the two emperors’ whole-hearted agreement on other matters. The negotiations proceeded on several levels encompassing questions relating to the balance of power in Western Europe, the situation in the Mediterranean, the Baltic and on the Russian–Turkish border. On the strength of the two treaties signed at Tilsit on 7 and 9 July 1807, Prussia lost more than half of its territory. Above all, however, the emperors concluded an alliance which guaranteed that Russia, after an attempt to mediate in the war between France and Britain, would enter into the trade blockade against the British Isles proclaimed by Napoleon in Berlin. The agreement with Alexander thus

Napoleon and the Poles during the ‘First Polish War’, 1806–1807

35

recognized Napoleon’s domination of Western Europe and his freedom of action in the region. Napoleon saw his alliance with Russia as an opportunity to establish a permanent peace on the continent based on a division of spheres of influence and the stabilization of French domination. Alexander was assured of his continuing influence in the Danubian principalities officially belonging to Turkey (Wallachia and Moldavia) as well as – in the not too distant future – the possibility of expansion at the cost of Sweden. By entering into an alliance with the French emperor as an equal partner, Alexander was transformed from the defeated party into Napoleon’s friend, into his ally in the ‘pacification of Europe’. The Polish question was an important strand in this tangle of political interests, but it was not Polish aspirations that influenced decisions taken at Tilsit. Representatives of the Ruling Commission present at Napoleon’s side were not privy to the details of the negotiations. In addressing the future of the Polish lands, Napoleon had to proceed cautiously. He did not wish to totally disappoint Polish expectations, but at the same time had no desire to commit himself too strongly to Poland’s restoration. From the very beginning, the possibility of its restoration had aroused enormous concern in St Petersburg as well as in Vienna, which was observing the negotiations. Many dignitaries and generals of both empires were convinced that the existence of even a small Polish state would intensify the patriotic mood of Poles still living under foreign rule in Austria and Russia. Combined with the aspirations of the Polish political elite to regain control of as much territory as possible of the former Commonwealth, this could only add to the already tense situation in that part of Europe. It might drag Napoleon into renewed conflict with Austria, Russia and Prussia in future. In favour of the restoration of Poland, on the other hand, was the emperor’s intention to further weaken Prussia and prevent a revival of any alliance between the partitioning powers. It is hardly surprising then that he decidedly rejected a plan put forward by Prussian diplomats for the restoration of Poland that would leave the Departments of Poznań, Danzig and Toruń (Thorn) simultaneously under the control of the Hohenzollerns. Instead, he proposed giving the Polish throne to Alexander I, well aware that the tsar’s possible acceptance would impede him in future understandings with Prussia and Austria and thus bind him all the more closely to France. Alexander, although he had recently sounded out Polish opinion on the matter of restoring a Polish state under his own rule, realized that accepting the throne from Napoleon’s hands would restrict room for manoeuvre in Russian foreign policy. He returned the compliment by suggesting to Napoleon that the throne be offered to his brother, Jérôme Bonaparte. However, Napoleon had no intention of tying his own dynasty to the as yet unresolved Polish question, which could turn out to be the smouldering embers of a new war. The unexpected beneficiary of this diplomatic juggling between the two emperors was to be Frederick Augustus, the former Elector of Saxony, recently made King of Saxony thanks to Napoleon’s generosity. It didn’t do to refuse a gift from the emperor, especially if it was another crown. By this means, the grandson of the former Polish King Augustus III (of the House of Wettin) acceded to the throne of a truncated petty state created out of the territory of ‘a Poland seized from the King of Prussia’ – but by no means the whole of it. The Duchy of Warsaw [Księstwo Warszawskie] was created from the bulk of lands gained by Prussia as a result of the Second and Third Partitions as

36

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

well as the southern part of the lands acquired through the First, including Bromberg (Bydgoszcz), Kulm (Chełmno) and Inowrazlaw (Inowrocław), thus encompassing about one-seventh of the territory of the pre-partition Commonwealth. Former Polish Pomerania remained outside the Duchy’s borders, as did the city of Danzig, which was to become a free city under the protection of Prussia and Saxony (but de facto of Napoleon), while the Białystok district was given to Russia.44 ‘I played for twenty-one, I got twenty and ended the game’ – this was how Napoleon summed up the negotiations in conversation with the Polish delegation. He was satisfied with the results. Having avoided the direct involvement of the Bonaparte dynasty, the Emperor of the French had created a ‘march’ for his empire on its eastern border – a buffer state with whose aid, in case of need, he could keep Russia, Prussia and Austria in check both politically and militarily. This is also how a significant proportion of the Russian elite perceived the meaning of the Tilsit agreements. Few were enthusiastic about the prospect of friendship and cooperation with Napoleon. The overwhelming majority, though not daring to criticize the tsar openly, regarded the Tilsit treaty as a shameful recognition of Napoleon’s domination of Europe, for which the 200,000 ‘souls’ acquired by Russia along with the district of Białystok were no compensation. According to many historians, Alexander I treated the alliance with Napoleon from the beginning as a tactical manoeuvre. The meanderings of the tsar’s political imagination would require a separate study, but he must have left Tilsit with no real sense of success. In a letter to his mother, he commented on the resolution of the dangerous – from Russia’s point of view – Polish question without satisfaction, yet with tangible relief: ‘Thank God, not a word about Poland.’ That comforting thought must have occurred to the tsar frequently, since he repeated it almost word for word in correspondence with his then mistress, Maria Naryshkina: ‘At least there will be no Poland, only the ridiculous Duchy of Warsaw.’45

2

‘A wise and liberal constitution has replaced anarchy …’

The allegorical painting by Marcello Bacciarelli, former court painter to Stanisław August, depicts the scene at the royal palace in Dresden on 22 July 1807: Napoleon wearing the uniform of Chasseurs of the Imperial Guard, sword by his side, sits on a raised throne. To his right stand Talleyrand and Secretary of State Maret, who is handing the emperor a copy of the Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw. Before the throne, in respectful poses, stand members of the Ruling Commission. Stanisław Małachowski, bowing to the emperor, is about to receive from his hand the act laying down the foundations of the new state. Napoleon appreciated the propaganda value of such ceremonies. Maybe he would have framed this momentous event in a similar manner – would have, since in reality the scene never took place.1 News of the settlement of the Polish question contained in the Treaty of Tilsit was so confused that members of the Ruling Commission, summoned by Napoleon to Dresden, left Warsaw in a state of consternation. Only on their arrival did they discover the composition of the new state, which was to encompass 104,000 square kilometres of territory and be inhabited by approximately 2.6 million people.2 Its political structure was likewise an enigma. The majority of the Polish political elite, associated with the traditions of the Four Years Sejm, believed it should be based on the Third of May Constitution, treated at that time as a kind of memento of former splendours. In the political mentality of its advocates, the idea of a hereditary throne, whereby a king was entrusted with authority over the executive power in a model close to the British, was deeply lodged. According to this system, ministers appointed by the ruler were answerable for their decisions to the Sejm, which could hold them accountable and also force the king by a majority vote to dismiss them. The Third of May Constitution also introduced to the Sejm representatives of wealthy townsmen from royal towns, albeit in limited numbers and permitted to vote only on matters affecting towns. It recognized the landowning nobility as the essence of the nation; the Sejm, in effect, was to be their representative. The expectations of former Polish Jacobins went much further. They saw Napoleon’s protection as an opportunity to not only resurrect Poland, but fundamentally reconstruct the political system and reform society. The French constitution, which General Zajączek appealed to Napoleon to introduce, had established a political system in France whereby executive power lay totally in the hands of the first consul and then the emperor, who controlled internal affairs, decided foreign policy and exercised

38

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

authority over the army. In political life, it had restricted the role of parliament, whose limited powers made legal opposition de facto impossible. The Napoleonic system aimed to stabilize the situation in France and strengthen the state at the expense of the free interplay of political forces, including in parliament. At the same time, however, Napoleon’s constitution and Civil Code of 1804 preserved the revolutionary principles of personal freedom, inviolability of private property, and equality before the law. In transferring them to Poland, many republicans saw a panacea for the ills noted by Polish Enlightenment publicists for years: civilizational backwardness, economic underdevelopment, the dominant political and social position of the nobility, serfdom, the weakness of the urban sector. Their expectations were evident in a discussion initiated by former Jacobins in spring 1807 in Gazeta Warszawska. This was a debate among experts representing different fields about opportunities opening up for Poles in the new political situation. The majority emphasized the potential for constructing the foundations of a modern state and society which would enable the achievement, in the words of one correspondent, of ‘a high level of civilization, worthy of the nineteenth century’. The emperor’s protection would therefore provide a modernizing stimulus for the country and, what was more, thanks to the ‘restorer’ instilling the most important achievements of the French revolution, Poles would enjoy the benefits flowing from them without having to go through a similar trauma of upheaval and suffering.3 In mid-July the members of the Ruling Commission set out for Dresden in order, so they announced to their compatriots, ‘to pay before Napoleon’s throne the homage due to him and receive from his victorious hand our future destiny’. They had no intention, however, of confining their mission to expressions of subservience. At Małachowski’s instigation, they decided to ask the emperor to reinstate the Third of May Constitution. Wybicki objected, convinced it no longer suited the new situation, upheld serfdom and considerably restricted access to political rights. Of his colleagues on the Ruling Commission, he could count on the support only of Stanisław Kostka Potocki. Discussions on the form and structure of the state continued during their journey. Potocki and Wybicki tried to compile a draft modifying the Third of May Constitution, although, as Wybicki observed, ‘there was little agreement and little desire for such work’. They never managed to present their full proposal during their audience with Napoleon. As Wybicki recalled, the emperor cut off Potocki’s arguments with the words: ‘Today you need to be given a different constitution,’ and began to dictate its main principles ‘pacing quickly around the room, while the Duc de Bassano [Maret], writing in shorthand and almost on his knees, barely managed to keep up. The dictation of the constitution lasted less than an hour. It was chaotic, as things usually are when done on the hop.’ The Saxon king, a pedantic man famous for his fondness for systematic work, shocked by the speed with which state matters were being decided, commented artlessly to Maret: ‘I confess the emperor dictated the constitution so fast I couldn’t understand it.’ The Polish dignitaries were mere passive onlookers of this legislative sprint: ‘Only from time to time did [the emperor] turn to us and ask if we were content, certain the answer would be in accordance with his will.’ Along with Frederick Augustus, who was ‘almost as submissive as we were’, the Polish delegates listened to another tirade from the emperor on the topic of Polish anarchy. It seems

‘A wise and liberal constitution has replaced anarchy …’

39

that Maret consulted the Poles only in the final phase of editing. Work on the act lasted approximately three days. On 21 or 22 July the final version of the constitution was ready.4 The outcome of Napoleon’s impressive display of legislative dexterity, as far as members of the Ruling Commission were concerned, was questionable. Having regained their self-assurance in his absence, they endeavoured in conversations with Maret to renegotiate adjustments to certain articles. The emperor refused to agree, however, to any substantial changes. He signed the constitution on 22 July and – pressed by state affairs or simply avoiding an awkward situation – left Dresden, having ordered his minister to acquaint the Poles with the final text only on the following day. On 23 July, Maret announced to the Commission members that ‘His Imperial Majesty, lord of parts of Poland gained by right of his victory over the King of Prussia, had resolved to bestow a constitution … on that country. He immediately applied himself to reading through the constitution. … And during his reading, … answered the Commission’s comments regarding certain points, in such a way that the constitution composed and signed by the emperor, could not be subject to any alteration. Summoned by minister Maret, the Commissioners proceeded with due obedience and respect to enter the required signatures.’ As can be seen, the act of bestowing the constitution took place in an atmosphere far from euphoric. The Commission members tried until the last moment to submit corrections and provisos – but in vain. ‘We noticed many changes unfavourable to us. … In the end we had to sign,’ complained Ludwik Gutakowski.5 The upshot of this arduous legislative work was a text that was typically Napoleonic in its succinctness, consisting of eighty-nine articles.6 The Duchy of Warsaw’s political structure departed significantly from the Polish elite’s erstwhile notions of the law, state institutions, and relations between the legislative and executive powers. The crown of the new state, handed to Frederick Augustus, King of Saxony, was to be hereditary in the Wettin dynasty. In 1791 Frederick Augustus had been offered the throne under the Constitution of the Third of May, but had not dared to accept, fearing Russian reaction. Now, he was to occupy an incomparably more powerful position than any Polish predecessor. The constitution conferred by Napoleon introduced a legal order which negated the former noble democracy based on a powerful Sejm. Accustomed to a parliamentary tradition, the members of the Ruling Commission learnt that from then on they would have to accept a system in which – as stated by Article 6 of the constitution – ‘government is in the person of the king’. This meant the concentration of all executive power in the hands of the monarch, as well as his right to appoint and dismiss ministers, who would be accountable only to him, and almost all government officials. The ruler was to also appoint the speaker of the Sejm, persons presiding at local assemblies where members of the Sejm were elected, senators and the majority of judges. As commander-in-chief of the army, he would also appoint officers. He also possessed the exclusive right to initiate legislation, the right to issue decrees supplementing the constitution and affecting areas outside the authority of the Sejm, as well as the right of pardon. The king governed through ministers appointed by himself: of justice, internal and religious affairs, war, finance and police. This group was supplemented by a secretary of state, who was permanently resident in Dresden and ran the royal chancellery dealing

40

The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

with the Duchy of Warsaw affairs. Following the model of Napoleonic France, ministers were in sole charge of the departments they administered. They were responsible only to the king except in cases of criminal misconduct, when they would be tried by a court appointed by the ruler. In carrying out their duties, they had to consult directly with the king. Since Frederick Augustus, who rarely visited the Duchy, did not make use of the right bestowed on him by the constitution to appoint a ‘viceroy’ to govern in his name, a Council of Ministers was appointed. Here ministers discussed matters which also lay outside the purview of the ministries of which they were in charge. Final decisions, however, were taken by the king. Also subordinate to the king was the Council of State, an institution unknown under the Polish system and again modelled on the French. It prepared drafts of laws submitted by the king to the Sejm, and decrees issued by him. Its powers also included resolving disputes between the administrative and judicial authorities, or between citizens and the administration, as well as examining applications for officials to be brought before the courts in connection with their official decisions. The council was composed of the same group of ministers who also met – to consider, however, different types of matter – as the Council of Ministers, and of state councillors appointed by the king. The constitution introduced an administrative division of the country into six departments [departamenty]: Warsaw, Kalisz, Poznań, Bydgoszcz, Płock and Łomża. In accordance with the Napoleonic model, each department was headed by a prefect directly responsible to the Minister of Internal Affairs, but also carrying out orders from other ministers. As head of the administration, the minister took decisions in all matters except those relating to the judiciary or the army. The departments were divided into districts – the district level was called a ‘powiat’ – and administered by a ‘sub-prefect’. The sub-prefect was accountable to the prefect and his duties covered similar areas. The administration of towns became the responsibility of mayors, subordinate to the sub-prefects or, in larger centres, of presidents subordinate to the prefects. In the countryside, the local administrative unit, known as the ‘commune’ [gmina], was entrusted to a commune head known as the wójt, appointed by the prefect but remaining under the authority of the sub-prefect. These administrative posts were usually occupied by local landowners. It is striking how far the organization of the civil service departed at all levels from the principle of collegiality, deeply rooted in Polish tradition, in favour of centralization, one-man management and personal accountability. Strengthening the position of the executive power, the constitution assigned a secondary role in the state to parliament. The bicameral Sejm consisted of a Senate and an elected lower house or Chamber of Envoys [Izba Poselska]. The Senate was appointed by the king. It was composed of castellans [kasztelanowie] and palatines [wojewodowie] who held their positions for life, and bishops appointed by the pope in consultation with the king. The Senate had eighteen members, later expanded to thirty. The Chamber of Envoys consisted of sixty members (envoys) from the nobility [posłowie] and – an important novelty – forty elected commune representatives [deputowani gminni] of non-noble inhabitants. In 1810 the size of the lower house was increased to one hundred noble members and sixty-six commune representatives. The executive power

‘A wise and liberal constitution has replaced anarchy …’

41

was strengthened by the fact that the lists of people entitled to elect noble members or commune representatives were drawn up by the prefects or municipal authorities. Compared to the provisions of the Third of May Constitution, parliament’s authority was unprecedentedly curtailed. The Sejm had no right to initiate legislation, no possibility of holding ministers to political account or of bringing them before a parliamentary court for breaches of the law. Elected for a two-year term, the ‘reconvenable’ [zawsze gotowy] Sejm of the Duchy of Warsaw was to meet every two years for no longer than fifteen days. Its freedom of debate was substantially reduced. It retained control of legislation affecting changes to the system of coinage, civil and criminal law and the level of income flowing into the Treasury, but without the possibility of passing a budget. The Sejm was not permitted to debate such issues independently; it could only debate bills that entered the Chamber of Envoys on the ruler’s initiative. Work on draft legislation was also to proceed differently from how everyone had imagined it, recalling with nostalgia the parliamentary debates of noble democracy. Previously, voting on bills had been preceded by discussions in Sejm commissions, and then by unrestricted debate in the Chamber of Envoys. Napoleon’s belief in the need to contain Poles’ alleged ‘anarchic’ tendencies, his hostility towards the ‘dictatorship’ of parliament at the time of the French Revolution, as well as his predilection for efficiency all resulted in the Sejm’s debating potential being reduced to a minimum. The legislative process would begin with the appropriate minister submitting, in the name of the king, a bill lying within his competency to the Council of State. Once it had been elaborated by the council, it would next be scrutinized by one of the commissions elected by the Chamber of Envoys: on financial affairs, civil or criminal law. The commission had forty-eight hours to familiarize itself with the bill. In cases where the commission submitted reservations, a debate would ensue between the commission and the relevant minister and senior secretaries appointed by the Council of State. Decisions affecting further progress of the bill belonged, however, to the Council of State. The council could present it to the Chamber of Envoys without entering amendments. During the debate in the lower house, only those representatives of the council recommending the bill would speak, or members of the relevant Sejm commission, who might also express critical opinions. The debate, which was not permitted to last longer than one day, could be terminated by the speaker of the Sejm at any moment of his choosing, if he considered ‘the issue had been sufficiently elucidated’. The fate of the bill was decided by secret vote. If it was accepted by the Chamber of Envoys, it went to the Senate, which had twenty-four hours to approve or reject it. If it was approved by the senators, then the king would confirm their decision and proclaim the new law. The Senate’s refusal to sanction a new law could be justified only on grounds that procedural rules had been breached during acceptance of the bill by the lower house, that there was a discrepancy between the new law and the constitution, or that some threat to the security of the country might result from it. In case of rejection by the upper house, the king could adjust its make-up by appointing new senators and resubmitting the bill for debate. According to the constitution, he could also ignore the Senate’s reservations and order the law to be proclaimed in the version accepted by the lower house.

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The Duchy of Warsaw, 1807–1815

In the Duchy of Warsaw, therefore, the executive power took precedence over parliament. In the mind of its protector, this arrangement was intended to lead to a stable system of government and improved efficiency in the work of the Sejm by preventing members from showing off their oratorical skills. It also reduced the likelihood of the Sejm becoming a centre of opposition to the government. In the political system of noble democracy, an important role in the state was played by local parliamentary assemblies, known as sejmiki. These assemblies of the szlachta had previously elected local government officials, envoys to the Sejm, and judges to the Crown and Lithuanian Courts of Justice. They would also hear reports from envoys about the Sejm’s activities, as well as debate local issues. The Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw reduced the role of the sejmiki to no more than electoral assemblies, at which the nobility elected envoys to the Sejm, as well as candidates from among whom the king then appointed justices of the peace and councillors to sit on department and district [powiat] councils. It was to these councils, along with the municipal councils to which candidates were appointed at commune [gmina] assemblies, that the – albeit limited – tasks of local government were entrusted. The most important of these was the distribution by district of impositions on the population during, for example, the 1806–7 war. Councils could also debate a department’s needs, comment on how the administration of the country might be improved or lodge complaints about prefects. At the local level, the district or – in larger cities and towns – municipal councils had similar powers. The political importance of local assemblies, the mainstay of ‘civic freedom’ in the tradition of noble democracy, therefore declined since they were deprived of much of their former authority. The strong position of the monarch, as well as the reduction in number and authority of elected bodies, distinguished the political system of the Duchy fundamentally from Commonwealth tradition. In the quarrel between ‘majesty and freedom’, which had a long tradition in Polish political culture, the scales had decidedly tipped towards the ruler. The changes did not stop here. As they heard the principles of the constitution dictated by Napoleon, the members of the Ruling Commission learnt – which pleased some and depressed others – that from then on all social groups were to be equal before the law. ‘I have abolished the ancient serfdom in Poland and this is the sweetest laurel of my victories,’ the emperor remarked to Talleyrand.7 Addressed no doubt to posterity, Napoleon’s words related to Article 4 of the constitution and its laconic statement: ‘Slavery [niewola] is abolished, all citizens are equal before the law.’ This meant abolition of the personal bondage of the peasants and the bestowing upon them of full legal independence. Also proclaimed was ‘equality before the law and courts of justice’, which struck at the heart of the former system of estates.8 In contrast to the estate-based system of courts in earlier periods, these were made uniform in the Duchy for all social groups. Civil courts of first instance, from which citizens had the right to apply to the Court of Appeal, functioned in every department. The independence of the courts of justice, guaranteed by the constitution, was to be ensured by the life appointments of judges nominated by the king. Exceptions to this rule were justices of the peace [sędziowie pokoju], who fulfilled the function of arbitrators in civil cases. They were appointed by the king for six-year terms from among candidates elected at local assemblies.

‘A wise and liberal constitution has replaced anarchy …’

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The constitution also introduced changes in the area of political rights. Representatives elected at commune assemblies by non-noble electors appeared in the Chamber of Envoys alongside members elected by the nobility. The right to vote was conferred on persons who fulfilled the property requirements, or were well educated or had rendered meritorious service. Owners of real estate or businesses above a certain value, as well as parish priests and curates, deserving non-commissioned officers and soldiers released from duty or still serving, all officers, as well as ‘every artist and citizen renowned for his talent, knowledge or services to trade, or the arts’ could thus take part in elections. The change was crucial. The Third of May Constitution had already allowed twenty-four representatives of townsmen elected in commune assemblies to participate in debates in the Chamber of Envoys in addition to the 204 noble members. These commune representatives had been given the right to speak only on matters affecting towns. In the Sejm of the Duchy of Warsaw, representatives of the szlachta continued to outnumber others. However, representatives of other social groups, including wealthy peasants, constituted approximately 40 per cent of the Chamber of Envoys. What is more, these representatives differed from noble members only in name and in the way they were elected – in the debating chamber they enjoyed the same rights as representatives of the szlachta. Napoleon was clearly satisfied with his own work. And he did not fail to exploit its propaganda value. In his report to the Legislative Body after his return to France, he claimed: ‘A wise and liberal constitution has replaced constitutional anarchy. … Three million people have received freedom and a fatherland. This one article of its new laws places the Polish constitution in the custody of all those in Europe who espouse liberal ideas and confess sublime feelings.’9 Yet in the constitution bestowed by Napoleon, very little attention was paid to the rights of man or civil liberties. The constitution recognized the freedom and equality of all religions, but made Roman Catholicism the state confession. It also guaranteed personal freedom and equality before the law. Of other rights of man and citizen the constitution made no mention. Some of these, such as the inviolability of private property, followed from the Napoleonic Code, which – in accordance with the constitution – was to become the civil law of the Duchy of Warsaw. But others, to mention only freedom of speech, the press and assembly, were to be severely curtailed.10 However, the emperor’s words on the liberal spirit of the constitution decreed by himself were not entirely an act of political cynicism, since they exemplify one of the ways in which liberalism was understood at the time, namely first and foremost as equality before the law, or, as the Jacobin leader Hugo Kołłątaj put it, ‘uniformity of government’ as opposed to ‘exclusivity’, that is a system whereby particular social groups, regions, and so on governed themselves according to their own laws.11 The political structure conferred on the Duchy of Warsaw by the constitution resulted from Napoleon’s belief in the need to reform ‘Polish anarchy’ and secure his own control – through his intermediary, the King of Saxony – over the situation in the newly formed state. He was also motivated by the conviction, which there is no reason not to treat seriously, of the civilizing mission he was meant to fulfil. His introduction into the Duchy of some of the principles of the French Revolution, if only equality before the law, he may well have considered a cause for pride. A strong

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authoritative government was to guarantee the citizens internal peace and security. The concentration of power in the hands of the king and the weakening of the political role of parliament were intended to realize this goal. It was a model already tried and tested in Napoleonic France. Similar legal and governmental solutions emerged in all states located within the emperor’s sphere of influence. In the Duchy’s constitution decreed by Napoleon, there was also no mention of the notion ‘Poland’ or ‘Poles’ – Alexander I would have had further reason to be satisfied. An exception was a reference to the retention of civil and military orders ‘existing in former Poland’: of Saint Stanisław, the White Eagle and Virtuti Militari. Napoleon’s caution in this matter, so sensitive for Russia, provoked certain legal issues: the Council of State was forced to settle doubts about the official ‘national designation for citizens of the Duchy of Warsaw’. Eventually this formula was accepted: ‘Pole from the Duchy of Warsaw’.12 Given the absence in the constitution of any direct allusion to Polish traditions of statehood, Poles’ attachment to them could only be satisfied by certain references to pre-partition institutions and political customs. One link was the bicameral Sejm consisting of a Senate, where bishops, palatines and castellans sat as before, and the Chamber of Envoys. Another was the principle of direct election of representatives to the Sejm by electors.13 In the Napoleonic model, indirect elections were more typical, whereby parliamentary candidates were appointed by electoral colleges. In accordance with Polish tradition, despite equality – proclaimed by the constitution – before the law and dependence of voting rights above all on property and services rendered, other articles underlined the special role of the nobility in political life. For this reason, the local sejmiki were retained as separate electoral assemblies of the szlachta. Only its representatives in the Chamber of Envoys were entitled to the traditional epithet ‘envoy’ – poseł. They greatly outnumbered representatives of other groups. A detached observer might well have noted that this nod towards Polish political traditions and mentality went deeper than in other constitutions bestowed by the emperor elsewhere, all of which introduced a model closer to the Napoleonic.14 This did not alter the fact, however, that the scale and range of changes envisaged by the constitution might provoke the bewilderment and even discontent of many citizens of the new state.

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‘Many Polish officers, forgetting their oath of allegiance to His Majesty the Emperor, dare to use, in billiard rooms, inns and public meeting-places, improper words and expressions offensive to the respect due to this monarch,’ Director of Police Aleksander Potocki warned the Warsaw municipal authorities on 26 July 1807. The army did not simply curse the emperor. Several cases of brawls between Polish and French soldiers had been noted across the land. These were just some of the many signals of a down-turn in public mood. It was aggravated by the population’s weariness of military operations, and once these had ended – by new passages of troops, billeting and requisitioning. A real scourge proved to be the corps under Ney, whose path was marked, according to the French diplomat and Napoleon’s resident in Warsaw, Étienne Vincent-Marniola, by ‘death, rape and pillage’. Rumours of the peace terms agreed at Tilsit also contributed to the bad atmosphere. In the months leading up to it, Poles had invested enormous effort in persuading Napoleon, or so they had believed, of their determination to regain their independence. On the eve of the peace negotiations, the conviction that Napoleon would restore Poland within borders embracing the Prussian Partition and perhaps also Galicia – through negotiation with Austria – did not lack political realism. News filtering from Napoleon’s entourage diametrically altered the mood. Informing the Ruling Commission sitting in Dresden of the decline in ‘public spirit’, Director of Justice Feliks Łubieński described reactions oscillating between ‘derision’ and ‘desperation’. The mood must have been tangible: ‘This is Napoleon’s reward for our sacrifice …, the name of Poland is banished even from the list of states,’ Vincent quoted the view of his Polish interlocutors. Far from sympathetic to the Poles, the French resident defined their ‘state of mind’ as ‘dissatisfaction mingled with numbness’. He also mentioned the hostility shown to the French by Polish officers and soldiers.1 It was no doubt under influence of such disturbing information that the Ruling Commission authorized the General Directorate to issue a proclamation stating that although the new state would have less territory than expected, it was nevertheless assured a constitutional government, while the throne would be occupied by a ruler from one of the former Polish dynasties renowned for his qualities. The constitution would guarantee the ‘people’s well-being’ and equal legal protection ‘for all classes of inhabitants’. On their return to Warsaw, the Ruling Commission in a further proclamation forecast better times to come when the Duchy of Warsaw would form an ‘embryo of permanent prosperity’. It also recalled the virtues recommended to the Poles

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by Napoleon himself: ‘unity of hearts and minds’ and patience which would guarantee ‘the happiness of future generations’. At the same time, Director of War Poniatowski emphasized in his appeal to the army that apart from courage, the fatherland also demanded from its defenders ‘unity, order, discipline and obedience’.2 Interpreting the Tilsit decisions as a Polish success brought no immediate results. Hardly surprisingly, the outcome of the peace negotiations also disappointed many members of the interim government. However, if one is to believe the correspondence of the emperor’s French representatives in the Duchy, the mood of its inhabitants gradually improved. Vincent as well as Marshal Davout, who remained in the Duchy in charge of tens of thousands of French troops, perceived the soothing effect of rumours about the constitution bestowed by Napoleon. ‘The public spirit improves from day to day,’ according to Resident Vincent – if, he added, ‘one can speak at all of its existence in a country dominated by recklessness and division into “petty factions”’.3 It is difficult to assess the accuracy of these observations. However, a connection may well have existed between the ‘public spirit’ and dissemination of information about the Duchy’s constitution. Some of its clauses may indeed have met with a positive reception in circles concerned about public life, but it did not inspire enthusiasm in all. Radicals considered it too conservative, moderates – too radical. Feelings might also have improved because people believed the Tilsit settlements were temporary. Observation of political events across the continent suggested that far-reaching changes might still happen in the European balance of power. Members of the Ruling Commission were consoled by Napoleon himself, who declared to Wybicki and Potocki in Dresden that ‘I know the Poles are dissatisfied, but I cannot jeopardize French interests to satisfy you,’ after which ‘he took his hat and broke it in his hand, saying: Everything may still thus be broken.’ The proclamation of the Ruling Commission discreetly conveyed this to their countrymen.4 The transfer of power in the Duchy of Warsaw to the King of Saxony also prompted comment. Initially, it had been expected that Napoleon himself or one of his brothers would ascend to the throne of the restored state, or one of his well-deserving marshals – Murat, for instance, who was obviously wooing the Poles. This wish was expressed by individuals from different political traditions, such as Zajączek and Poniatowski. Entrusting power to a monarch so closely associated with Napoleon was regarded as a guarantee of the emperor’s continued protection over the cause of restoring Poland. The throne of the Duchy of Warsaw, however, was to be occupied by the grandson of August III Wettin, King of Poland from 1733 to 1763. By 1807 Frederick Augustus had behind him the experience of nearly forty years of independent rule as Elector of Saxony. He was an advocate of cautious action – and had been reluctant to accept the succession to the Polish crown after Stanisław August in 1791. He was similarly unwilling to join battle against Napoleon on the Prussian side. Soon after the defeats at Jena and Auerstädt, he took advantage of the emperor’s gesture offering peace, entry to the Confederation of the Rhine and status as King in Saxony. The throne of the Duchy of Warsaw he likewise accepted with little enthusiasm – he would more readily have welcomed the expansion of Saxon territory to include Erfurt, contested by Prussia. Clearly fascinated, however, by the emperor’s powerful personality, Frederick Augustus became his loyal ally. His loyalty verged, in the words of his biographer, on ‘boundless compliance’.

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To those who were expecting a ‘warrior king’, Napoleon’s choice must have been a disappointment. Introverted, taking refuge behind rules of etiquette, Frederick Augustus in no way resembled the colourful cavalryman Murat. His many good points were nevertheless appreciated: ‘God-fearing without being superstitious, … strictly holding to honesty and virtue, … sensible and thrifty in his spending’ – the king was thus praised by Secretary to the Senate, Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz. Sensitive to Poles’ desire for national autonomy, Frederick Augustus also endeared himself by speaking Polish on public occasions, a language known to him since childhood.5 The king’s qualities, valued by his subjects in Saxony, were a good recommendation for his role as ruler of the Duchy – a state ruined by war, expecting the introduction of an efficiently run administration as well as new laws and institutions. Many people considered him incapable, however, of energetic action when it came to the restoration of Poland: ‘Slow and cautious …, he is more suited to maintaining peace and prosperity in the country than extending its borders,’ Niemcewicz regretted.6 Despite these doubts, the king’s first visit was eagerly awaited. The provisional state of affairs persisting in the country was burdensome for its inhabitants. Many issues, including the poor state of public finances and problems with maintaining not only their own army but also French troops stationed there, required a ruler’s decisions. The king was in no hurry to come, however, while he carefully studied the history of Poland and situation of his new subjects. Only in mid-February 1807 did the convoy of carriages bringing the king, his daughter and their retinue cross the border of the Duchy. Its entry into Warsaw was greeted by the enthusiasm of the inhabitants, which must have taken the monarch aback – since it would never have entered the heads of his Saxon subjects to harness themselves to a royal carriage. The ruler’s unwillingness to fraternize with ordinary people and his fondness for courtly etiquette were sorely put to the test during encounters with the spontaneous Poles. There was no doubt, however, that the king spared no pains in fulfilling his new role: ‘Though accustomed to strict ceremonial, … he conversed with everyone presented to him’.7 During the coming month, it was not only the behaviour of the king that attracted widespread attention. Since the king was to spend most of his time in Dresden, the appointment of ministers ruling in his name was especially important. These positions were entrusted to individuals previously active in the provisional Polish administration. The king appointed Stanisław Małachowski as president of the Council of Ministers and Council of State. Alongside him in both councils were to sit the familiar members of the former General Directorate of the Ruling Commission: Stanisław Breza as secretary of state, Feliks Łubieński as Minister of Justice, Józef Poniatowski as Minister of War and Aleksander Potocki as Minister of Police. The Ministry of Internal Affairs was entrusted to Jan Paweł Łuszczewski, a former envoy to the Four Years Sejm, and the Ministry of Finance to Tadeusz Dembowski, envoy to the Four Years Sejm and member of Kościuszko’s insurrectionary council. The Council of Ministers functioned under Małachowski’s leadership for only two months. The wise old man of Polish politics was discouraged by the constitutional principles imposed by Napoleon. In December 1807 he was dismissed on his own request and appointed at the same time as chairman of the Senate. Presidency of the Council of Ministers passed to Ludwik Gutakowski, the oldest of the envoys

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still alive to the Four Years Sejm. He fulfilled his duties for more than a year. In December 1809, following the death of Małachowski, he succeeded him as chairman of the Senate. He was replaced as president of both the Council of Ministers and Council of State by Stanisław Kostka Potocki. News of some appointments prompted critical remarks. Many people regarded Poniatowski as a bon viveur incapable of systematic administrative work. The merits of others were appreciated, although their lack of suitability and proper qualifications were criticized. Stanisław Kostka Potocki and Łubieński became the most prominent of the ministers. Potocki’s advantages were his social position, intellect and political experience which he had accumulated working alongside his brother Ignacy, a leading politician during the reign of Stanisław August. Łubieński’s rise came as a surprise to many. A former envoy to the Four Years Sejm, he was regarded under Prussian rule to be a careerist or realist, cleverly consolidating his position, thanks to his connections with the authorities. His organizational skills and ability to follow legal and procedural intricacies meant that by 1807 he had become the leading figure of the General Directorate. As minister, he proved a valuable advisor to Frederick Augustus, who was poorly informed at first about Polish realities. The appointment of ministers and senators indicated the social group on which the king intended to base his government. The highest officials and dignitaries of the Duchy came from the aristocracy and wealthy landowners associated with the patriotic tradition of the Four Years Sejm. Thus, the circle that had dominated the Ruling Commission remained in control and even increased its influence. Wybicki, an active and respected member of the provisional authorities in 1807, closer to the middling and minor nobility as well as former legionaries, was given the eminent but politically insignificant role of senator. In the distribution of the highest offices of state, former Polish republicans who also supported Napoleon were likewise overlooked.8 The political line that the king’s government would take was also evident in his proclamation to the Duchy’s inhabitants. Gratitude was expressed to Napoleon, while Polish courage during the recent war was praised. Former ties between Poland and the Wettin dynasty were underlined. The king drew attention to the benefits which the Duchy’s new constitution could bring. Amid the proclamation’s conventional phrases, came a severe warning addressed to the peasants. Peasants were reminded that following the abolition of serfdom and their liberation from the control of landowners, they still remained ‘under the strict arm of the law’ and were obliged to work on farms owned by the nobility. The emphatic tone of this section of the proclamation was the result of rumours reaching Dresden that some peasants had treated the abolition proclaimed by the constitution too literally, refusing to fulfil their obligations to landlords and abandoning their villages. The king and the Duchy’s ruling elite feared a radicalization of the mood among the peasantry, as well as the hostility of the nobility, among whom Article 4 of the constitution had aroused fears concerning the new order. This problem was to be resolved by Frederick Augustus’s decree of 21 December 1807. The so-called ‘December decree’ defined more precisely the clause of the constitution about the abolition of serfdom. It was claimed that Article 4 guaranteed peasants only their personal freedom. They could leave their village and settle in a new place. However, the departing peasant had to leave behind the landowner’s ‘property’,

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meaning his plot of agricultural land, crops and buildings, animals and agricultural tools. The authorities strove in this way to limit the possibility of large-scale peasant migration. As the popular saying went, the decree ‘removed the peasant’s boots along with his shackles’.9 When the king departed from the Duchy, he left mixed feelings behind. He had aroused respect rather than love. His closest collaborators had recognized his reliability and diligence. Such qualities could not be overestimated in a situation where the legal and organizational foundations of the new state had to be created. Between October and the end of the year, almost thirty royal decrees and resolutions were issued by the Council of State addressing various questions in precise detail – from civil rights and the specific responsibilities of individual government bodies to defining the rules of conscription.10 The justice system was also reorganized. With time, institutions supporting the structures of central government were extended, especially in the financial sector. Development of the educational system at various levels, the financing of its activities and preparation of textbooks were the responsibility of the Directorate of National Education, modelled on the pre-partition Commission for National Education. Great hopes were invested in schooling for the country’s economic development, the improvement of peasants’ living standards and education as conscious citizens. Children of six to eight years were obliged to attend school until they were eleven or twelve. The principle of universal access to public education for inhabitants of both villages and towns was not fully realized, however, but by the time of the Duchy’s demise, 1,200 elementary schools were functioning in its territories. The number had increased almost twofold in towns, and more than five times in rural areas.11 A new structure of local and regional administration was created. It depended on a system of prefects. They were responsible for the introduction and execution of laws as well as functioning of numerous institutions. Matters connected with a department’s economic life similarly lay in their hands, as did public safety. Prefects were to preside over elective assemblies and assist in the conscription of recruits and collection of public liabilities to the state or army. In the new system of state management, the prefects therefore fulfilled the function of the government’s chief executives in carrying out instructions and also of informants regarding the situation in the provinces, while at the same time they were custodians of the law and guardians of manufacturing, trade, agriculture and education. The majority of the nine prefects appointed in 1807–9 were aged no more than forty at the time of their appointment. All came from landowning families, while their fathers usually belonged to the local elite – senators, envoys to Sejms, generals or local government officials. The majority also had considerable experience of public life acquired in the pre-partition period. During 1806–7 all were actively engaged in the provisional Polish local authorities. Thus, control over department administration was entrusted to representatives of the nobility, well known to their neighbours not only because of their landed property and connections but also because of their participation in public life.12 In carrying out the tasks entrusted to them, the prefects were assisted by a large team of subordinate prefecture and police officials. About thirty were usually employed in the various sections of a prefecture, and about ten in the district [powiat]

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sub-prefectures. The large number of civil servants employed in the provinces, in municipalities as well as in urban and rural commune [gmina] administrations, gave rise to considerable controversy. Some among the nobility criticized the increase in bureaucracy, associated more with Prussian rule than with national tradition, pointing out the costs and wide-ranging powers placed in the hands of officials. Advocates of the new system, on the other hand, appealed to the theory of public administration or ‘police science’ [Polizeiwissenschaft] that had emerged in Europe during the eighteenth century. Its creators formulated rational principles governing the organization and functioning of an administrative apparatus, the application of which would guarantee a country’s development and the prosperity of its subjects. In the Duchy of Warsaw, it had its enthusiasts both in circles linked to the Third of May tradition and among former Jacobins. They believed the public good required the existence of a strong civil service, one which, in the words of Stanisław Węgrzecki, mayor of Warsaw, ‘watches over the reversal of everything bad in society’. The civil service was meant to be an effective tool for managing the country and to play an active role in raising its civilizational level. This belief conformed to Enlightenment notions of the specific role of executive power in the life of a society.13 The mission to modernize the country, which the civil service was meant to realize, required the maintenance of an enlarged cadre of officials. The tasks ahead of them, however, were hardly slight. The rulers of the Duchy of Warsaw were faced by a problem, already perceived at the time of the Four Years Sejm, and with which the Prussian authorities had also failed to deal effectively. The efficacious choice of ‘medicines’ – to treat the country’s ‘diseases’ most frequently identified by publicists – required knowledge of its demographic, social and economic condition. Lack of basic information hindered the decision-making process in such crucial areas as defining the level of taxation, conscription, introduction of regulations protecting home production, and so on. The lack was to be remedied by a general census conducted in 1807–8 and again in 1810. Individual ministries also required prefects to complete numerous questionnaires on the needs of their departments. A questionnaire prepared in the Ministry of Finance inquired, for example, about income from customs and taxation, levels of export and import of goods, customs duties in neighbouring countries, the state of manufacturing, the price of basic articles and the mood of the population. This attention to minutiae was reminiscent of the former Prussian administration. Despite the negative assessments of Hohenzollern rule in its propaganda, the government of the Duchy of Warsaw tried to adopt some of the procedures of the Prussian bureaucracy. The growth of the civil service, which to prefects seemed far too slow, gave malcontents a reason to grumble. Many might have subscribed to Fryderyk Skarbek later bitter remarks about officials: ‘As executors of the government’s will they adopted a menacing and rather hostile stance towards their fellow citizens and soon become more or less objects of dislike.’14 The government of the Duchy of Warsaw was also faced with the task of reforming the civil law. In accordance with the constitution, this meant the introduction of the Napoleonic Code (or Code Napoléon). This was a systematic codification, uniform across the whole country, of legal norms, and consolidated the most important trophies of the French Revolution: equality before the law, inviolability of property,

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the principles of person liberty and freedom of conscience. The concise – yet precise in its notation – Napoleonic Code was introduced in many countries which the French emperor had subjugated. It outlived the fall of the Napoleonic Empire becoming an inspiration and model for legislative works in many parts of the world for over a hundred years. Some historians perceive authoritarian tendencies in it, for example, in clauses regulating the power of the father and husband over other family members. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the majority of opponents of the ‘old, monarchical Europe’ saw it as a basis of progress and modernity. The greatest authority among Polish republicans, Hugo Kołłątaj, enthusiastically described it as ‘the universal book of enlightened peoples’.15 On 1 May 1808, to the accompaniment of a military drum roll, a procession marking the inauguration of the Napoleonic Code left Warsaw Cathedral. A few moments earlier, before the altar, minister Łubieński had received the ‘book of laws’ from the celebrating bishop and held it up amid cries of ‘Long live Napoleon!’ Members of the government and Polish and French generals ‘hastened’ after the copy of the Code ‘bound in gold’ and borne aloft on a ‘rich cushion’. This magnificent ceremony was meant to symbolize the inauguration of a new era of order and justice under the enlightened rule of a perfect law. The changes associated with the introduction of the Code were indeed crucial. They replaced the legal norms binding until then, stemming from various sources (such as customary law, resolutions of Sejms and local sejmiki), with modern codification and standardization of the judicial system and its accompanying procedures. The abolition of legal estates proclaimed by the constitution was sanctioned by the norms of the civil law. In the long term, the abolition favoured changes taking place in the nineteenth century in the role of individuals within Polish society – a person’s place in the social hierarchy was increasingly determined more by wealth than by class origin. By introducing (in 1809) new Napoleonic trading regulations, the Code also created conditions conducive to the development of trade and industry. Certain clauses of the new law, however, aroused fears. Even in the powerful elite circle loyal to Napoleon, there were advocates of the old Polish law, recognized as better suited to Polish realities and customs. Noble landowners were alarmed the Code did not take into consideration the way in which landed property was traditionally divided. They were afraid that peasants, whose only right until then had been the cultivation of the agricultural plot allocated to them for their own use, would gain the legal right to purchase it from landowners. It is hardly surprising that the nobility greeted the December decree with relief. The articles relating to marriage likewise caused agitation. According to the Code, marriage became a contract concluded during a civil ceremony before an official, and could be dissolved by negotiating a divorce before a court. The Code’s precepts of secular marriage and divorce offended religious life and mentality. The separation of the marriage act from the sacraments upset many people and became the subject of severe criticism from the clergy. Besides, it transpired that the new law was poorly suited to Polish reality – in the entire period of the Duchy’s existence, there were fewer than twenty exclusively civil marriages and few divorces, thus demonstrating the low level of public acceptance of the French models.

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The introduction of the Code entailed serious problems. Above all, the justice system had to be overhauled and court procedures altered. The proper functioning of the Code as a source of law required correct knowledge of it on the part of judges and officials. Problems began on the level of access to the text itself. There was no Polish translation. On the orders of Łubieński, chief advocate of the Code’s swift adoption, it was translated into Polish. The translation met with many critical commentaries from lawyers, who pointed out the lack of equivalent legal terminology in the Polish language. Lawyers and officials also needed time to familiarize themselves with it. One of Łubieński’s subordinates warned that ignorance of the new law and the procedures associated with it would hamper its introduction and lead to an impasse in the justice system, since ‘a timid or incompetent judge won’t proceed without asking questions’. Such problems were to be addressed through the education of officials and judges. Thanks to Łubieński’s efforts, the School of Law and Administrative Sciences [Szkoła Prawa i Nauk Administracyjnich] was created. It took time, however, for the effects to be felt. In the early years of the Duchy’s existence, many inhabitants criticized the Code for principles that were incompatible with Polish customs, and above all for the difficulties accompanying the progress through the courts of property and domestic cases.16 Voices dissatisfied with the functioning of state structures formed a crucial, but not the only, element determining the country’s mood, which was highly complex. Many observers, including those critical of the civil service and courts, continued to appreciate the potential advantages of Napoleon’s protectorate over the Duchy. To former republicans and their sympathizers, the very introduction of the Napoleonic Code and institutions modelled on those in France was enormously valuable. Reflections of this group – lawyers, civil servants, economists, teachers and lowerranked army officers – were imbued with the conviction that the ‘age of national renaissance’ should take advantage of French legislative practice in order to remove ‘remnants of feudalism’ still functioning in society, and thereby hasten the process of reshaping the modern nation. This included the abolition of legal barriers preventing the assimilation of Jews, but above all the transformation of the liberated peasants – still isolated from the national community – into citizens. Typical of this milieu was the image of Napoleon portrayed by Colonel Józef Neyman, a former soldier of Kościuszko’s uprising, who saw the emperor as a contemporary Lycurgus of Sparta, that is, as a lawgiver bestowing just laws. Belief in the opportunities opening up for the Poles was unshaken by disappointment in the Tilsit treaties. In 1808 Hugo Kołłątaj, the undisputed authority among former republicans, published a treatise conceived as a polemic with malcontent voices disillusioned by the creation of the Duchy of Warsaw. The pamphlet had a significant motto: Nil desperandum [‘Never despair’]. Kołłątaj believed the Duchy was merely the first stage in the restoration of Poland. Instead of giving way to despair, therefore, Poles should properly organize their relatively small, but their own state. A centralized structure and efficient civil service would eradicate the regional idiosyncrasies of the former Commonwealth. Kołłątaj appreciated the significance of the laws bestowed by Napoleon, emphasizing the moral value of liberating the peasants and the importance

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of the Napoleonic Code, which brought Poles closer to ‘unity with so many enlightened peoples’. Faith in the benefits of the Napoleonic protectorate was shared by some of the Duchy’s ministers, convinced it was possible to reconcile essential modernizing reforms with preservation of the dominant role of the nobility in public life. The chief representative of this group was Łubieński, supported by his collaborators – lawyers from the lesser nobility educated at German universities. Pragmatic advocates of the new order, however, were diverse. Among the individuals not necessarily close to the minister but sharing many of his views was Stanisław Staszic. A publicist and scholar from a burgher background, recognized as an intellectual authority, Staszic contributed to promoting Polish schooling in the Duchy, worked in the Ministry of Finance and sat on the Council of State, as one of its senior secretaries. In his writings he avoided expressions of fawning enthusiasm for the emperor, but approved the political system of the Duchy. He believed strong central government would facilitate the country’s development and, most importantly, as others agreed, would protect the state from reverting to an oligarchy of magnates and political anarchy. Similar views were expressed by other authors discussing economic, legal, administrative and educational problems. The works of Wawrzyniec Surowiecki, recognized as the outstanding Polish economist of the time, deserve special mention. In Surowiecki’s view, strong and efficient central government would stimulate economic growth, support the establishment of factories and schools, introduce a workable customs policy and create favourable conditions for the influx of capital and professional expertise from abroad.17 Despite their undoubted disappointment in the terms agreed at Tilsit, many groups believed there were well-justified reasons for valuing the small, but nevertheless Polish Duchy of Warsaw. Regarded as a provisional arrangement, it enabled Poles to organize the foundations of their own statehood and strengthen the army in anticipation of more favourable political circumstances. In the opinion of Napoleon’s supporters, the political power of the Duchy’s ‘creator’ and guardian imparted a sense of security as well as hope that a Polish state would be restored. Furthermore, certain publicists claimed a resurrected Poland would occupy a respected position in the new European order created by Napoleon. If the emperor’s aim was to construct European unity through liberating nations and raising them to a higher level of civilization, then Poland, once the bulwark protecting Europe from the barbarians of Asia, would become a bridge between the fully developed, enlightened centre of the great empire and the Slavic nations. This opinion was developed by Kołłątaj with great flourish in his vision of the European future. Kołłątaj maintained that, thanks to Napoleon’s victories in Europe, a ‘solar system’ had arisen. Its centre was France, around which ‘planets of primary and secondary importance’ orbited, among them the Duchy of Warsaw. A future Poland, restored to its pre-partition borders, would be part of that ‘great republic of enlightened peoples’. Apart from this civilizing mission, Poland would also be one of the pillars of a new balance of power between empires: Napoleon’s in the west and an eastern empire under the aegis of Russia.18 All significant groups and coteries in the internal politics of the Duchy ranging from liberal aristocrats to former Jacobins – it’s hard to call them parties given the fluidity

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and vagueness of the divisions between them – therefore accepted, with greater or lesser enthusiasm, Napoleon’s protectorate and perceived the opportunities connected with it. The Napoleonic option seemed the only sensible choice for the Poles. Some of its consequences, however, provoked disillusionment and fear. Napoleon’s decision to base the Duchy’s government on aristocrats and wealthy szlachta aroused mixed feelings among republicans. Former Jacobin supporters of Kościuszko had abandoned their former radicalism long before. They were ready to pragmatically accept the political direction chosen by the emperor. However, they did not hide their fears that the government might try to delay introducing Napoleonic legislation or weaken its influence. The shift of republicans to the opposition was also prompted by the personnel decisions of the king. Despite their engagement on the Napoleonic side in the war of 1806–7, republicans were almost entirely overlooked when important administrative appointments were made. The Jacobins’ disillusionment was especially provoked by the total fiasco of attempts to have their former leader – Kołłątaj – introduced to the Duchy’s governing elite. His radical past was not the best recommendation in the eyes of either Napoleon or Frederick Augustus. As a result, according to the malcontents, the majority of ministerial posts were assigned to incompetent people. The extraordinarily critical assessments of ministers, conveyed to Napoleon’s representatives in the Duchy by the Jacobins, not only sprang from genuine conviction or former animosities, but were a deliberate tactic adopted by them to disparage political opponents. Mutual dislike and old resentments split the leaders of the Duchy’s army at the highest level: Poniatowski, Dąbrowski and Zajączek. Conflict between them was reignited when in 1807 Poniatowski became Director of War. Zajączek, a former Jacobin transferred to the Polish army from the Grande Armée, refused for a long time to recognize Poniatowski’s authority. He attempted to resolve professional disputes with Poniatowski to his own advantage through his connections with French marshals. This put the Director of War in an awkward position. In turn, his refusal to promote protégés of Zajączek, a former radical, to higher positions, was interpreted by those hostile to the prince as proof of his persecution of competent and deserving candidates linked to a rival political faction. Many former legionaries and republicans felt excluded from influence over national affairs. On the surface, this appeared unjustified – in official speeches and in the press, the patriotism of their leaders was duly recognized. It was from this circle of former legionary officers that the majority of generals, regimental commanders and senior-ranking officers emerged. Dąbrowski, the most important representative of the legionaries, just like Zajączek, who was linked to the republicans, received substantial property at the end of the war taken from state lands. They received these rewards, however, from Napoleon’s hands, while the legal status of such donations and the privileges associated with them prompted criticism in government circles. The contrast between expectations for the country’s future following Napoleon’s victory and the reality aroused frustration among many former legionaries. Cyprian Godebski, officer and also poet, in 1807 colonel and commander of an infantry regiment, described the Duchy in a verse dedicated to one of his legionary friends as a country ‘where memory of services rendered is not the custom, / Where it’s enough to be poor to experience contempt’.

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The conflict between Poniatowski, Dąbrowski and Zajączek was intensified by the poorly defined principles determining their official responsibilities. Prince Józef as Director, and then Minister of War, was not commander-in-chief of the Polish army. Ultimate command of both French and Polish forces in the country lay with Davout. Poniatowski was nevertheless superior to the other two division commanders in matters affecting the administration and organization of the army. This gave rise to various misunderstandings. Poor relations between the three highest commanders – there was no love lost either between Dąbrowski and Zajączek – had a negative influence on the prevailing atmosphere in the officer corps, which was split into warring factions. This situation irritated even Davout. Forced to resolve the disputes between the Polish generals, he encountered an especially difficult customer in the impetuous Zajączek, who refused not only to recognize the superiority of Poniatowski but also to swear allegiance to Frederick Augustus, yet at the same time ostentatiously emphasized his total loyalty to Napoleon. Seeing no likelihood of improving relations between the clashing generals, Davout explained to Napoleon that attempts at mediation were fruitless since Zajączek and Dąbrowski, dissatisfied with the Duchy’s ruling circles, believed they were being persecuted by them.19 The explanations that Poniatowski had to include in his reports to Davout, following the latter’s intervention in matters of secondary importance, perfectly illustrate the position of the Polish authorities in their dealings with Napoleon’s military and civil representatives. This position was a consequence of the political status of the Duchy, which had now become the easternmost bastion of the great empire. The Polish army was incorporated into the military structures of Napoleonic Europe, subordinating it operationally to Davout’s command. Until September 1808 the 3rd Corps of the Grande Armée was stationed in the Duchy. The political and military protection of Napoleon enhanced the security of the tiny state surrounded by Russia, Prussia and Austria, and encouraged hopes for its territorial expansion. As a consequence, therefore, security largely depended on the will of the emperor. Frederick Augustus rarely questioned the limited independence of his government in Warsaw. He performed his duties conscientiously but with no particular enthusiasm and avoided taking crucial decisions without first consulting Davout or the emperor’s ambassador in Dresden. This weakened the political position of the Duchy’s authorities in their dealings with the emperor’s representatives. These representatives often exploited their influence. This applied especially to Davout, who, because of the tasks entrusted to him, controlled the overall situation in the country. The victor of Auerstädt undoubtedly possessed many qualities. His honesty and fairness were universally admired. The ‘Iron Marshal’ required the civilian population to adequately provision his units, but guaranteed in exchange security and protection from robbery and rape. His corps was renowned for its excellent training and harsh discipline. Davout was one of the few French commanders to support Polish aspirations to restore their own state. Despite his qualities, he could nevertheless be ruthless and mistrustful. For a long time, Polish aristocrats in Warsaw were victims of his suspicious nature, especially Prince Józef. Only after several months of residency in the Duchy did references appear in Davout’s reports indicating he perceived in Poniatowski a man of honour and commander committed to his responsibilities.

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Relations between Polish ministers and the French resident in the Duchy were much worse. Although the Duchy did not conduct its own diplomacy, Napoleon had guaranteed himself his own diplomatic representative in Warsaw. Although formally subordinate to the French ambassador in Dresden, the resident enjoyed considerable independence. His task was to supply essential information on the political situation and general mood in the Duchy. He also gathered intelligence about the condition of the armies of neighbouring states. And he also exerted a direct, though not exactly formal, influence on the activities of the Polish authorities. Appointed to this post was Étienne Vincent, a young man, well-educated and able, but also ambitious and confrontational. In dealings with Polish ministers he adopted an apodictic tone which they found extremely irritating. He also inspired bad memories of the past: ‘Monsieur Vincent would like to stackelberg us more and more,’ claimed Wybicki, alluding to the operational style of Count Stackelberg, Empress Catherine II’s all-powerful ambassador to Warsaw. News of the Poles’ annoyance at the resident’s despotic behaviour must have reached the emperor’s ears, who realized his representative in Warsaw ought not to behave like the governor of a conquered province. Vincent was recalled in October 1807. His successor was the Genoese Giancarlo Serra. Although more polite and skilful, he was no less zealous than his predecessor in interfering in the Duchy’s internal affairs. He was equally eager to gather around him Poles disaffected with the government. These included above all former Jacobins, who made the most of this opportunity to exchange critical remarks and common gossip about the Duchy’s ruling circles. As a result, reports filed by Davout and both residents from 1807 and the beginning of 1808 were full of warnings against the wavering or frankly traitorous aristocracy, as well as activities of Russian and Austrian agents. Influenced by such information, the French diplomats’ idea of the mood in the country was duly captured by Niemcewicz, who recorded a conversation with Davout: ‘“What’s new?” he [Davout] asked. “I’ve not heard anything.” “Excuse me,” he replied, “there are plots, intrigues, everywhere ill-will.”’ The similar tone of reports sent to Paris provoked the impatience of Napoleon himself, who categorically instructed Davout to keep his ‘patience and sangfroid’ and not believe insinuations, since ‘Poland is full of schemers, but they are of no importance.’ He claimed in addition that ‘in the state in which Poland finds itself, frictions, intrigues and oversights are bound to occur’ – which did not alter the fact that Poles were ‘basically devoted to France’. The melting of the ice between Davout and Poniatowski and the governing elite might also have had something to do with the arrival in Warsaw of Davout’s wife, a tactful woman of sound judgement.20 It also seems that with the passage of time, Napoleon’s representatives in Warsaw became better acquainted with the country’s particular situation and ceased to exaggerate the prevailing dissatisfaction. Republicans disaffected with the government regarded the interventions of French dignitaries as the last resort for saving the country; those in power regarded them as irritating dictates. Attempts at resistance, however, were rare. An exception was the resignation as president of the Council of State of Małachowski, discouraged by the failure of attempts to delay the introduction of the Napoleonic Code and by Vincent’s arrogance. This gesture on the part of the venerable ex-Marshal of the Four Years Sejm

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was equally an expression of weariness, as belief that he was not up to the tasks arising from the new political conditions. As he stated in a letter to Stanisław Kostka Potocki, ‘Present circumstances as well as the newness of the country’s political system require an official stronger than I.’ Members of the Council of State strove to tone down French demands by referring to the country’s difficult situation and specific problems. Their attempts did not always bring the desired results. French dignitaries even interfered in matters that appeared less crucial on the surface. Among these was an incident that occurred at the Redemptorists’ Church of Saint Benno, popular among Warsaw’s poorer inhabitants, in the spring of 1808. A brawl provoked by the arrogant behaviour of French officers attending the Easter Sunday morning Mass ended with them being beaten up by the ‘rabble’ gathered in the church. A riot was avoided thanks only to the quick-witted intervention of one of Prince Józef ’s adjutants. French revenge, as Niemcewicz recorded, led to the arrested Bennonite priests being ‘slapped across the face at will’. The affair didn’t end, however, with this soldier’s idea of justice. The church was closed, while the monks, some of German origin, had their papers confiscated. Davout suspected them of anti-Napoleonic propaganda and spying. Investigations failed to prove that contacts with the order’s centres in German-speaking countries were of an intelligence-gathering nature. Despite this, in a decree issued on the basis of information received from the ‘French court’, Frederick Augustus acknowledged that the priests had been engaged in ‘political matters, alien to their calling and contrary to it’, and had them immediately expelled from the country. The interference of French dignitaries likewise affected serious political and economic problems. In March 1808, as a result of the abrupt intervention of both Davout and the resident, chaos arose in connection with the devaluation introduced in Prussia of its copper coin in general circulation. News of the devaluation provoked alarm in the Duchy, because the coin was everywhere in use, since after the Third Partition both old Polish coins and those of the partitioning powers were in circulation in former Polish lands. Concern was intensified by the arrival of a transport carrying enormous sums of it set aside to pay French soldiers’ wages. The Council of State, fearing a drastic fall in income to the Treasury, which received a significant portion of duties and taxes in this Prussian currency, took the decision – without officially announcing the devaluation – that the Treasury should accept the Prussian coins [ditken] according to a less favourable exchange rate: instead of six Polish groshies to one Prussian coin, which was the rate before the devaluation, now only four groshies were to be given. They did not have to wait long for the market’s reaction. As Niemcewicz noted, ‘bakers, butchers and brewers’ stopped selling their goods for the devaluing coinage and when they began to be fined for so doing, they ‘ceased baking, brewing and slaughtering’. On the streets of Warsaw, there appeared first groups of the disaffected populace threatening traders and breaking shop windows, and then  – reinforced police patrols. This situation, recalling disturbances in Paris preceding the outbreak of revolution in 1789, must have alarmed the French. The financial loss was also borne by French soldiers. Serra therefore wrote a ‘sharp and threatening letter’ to the Council of State, accusing it of taking a decision that had reduced the value of soldiers’ pay. With the growing lack of trust in the devaluing coinage, it was essential to ensure money paid to soldiers retained its buying power. From his residence in

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Skierniewice, Davout therefore demanded that the Council of State announce the official devaluation of the Prussian currency. The reply he received was negative – since ministers could not take such decisions without an order from the king, which they then tried to obtain, however, without delay. Before the relay reached Dresden, Serra demanded a session of the Council of State with his participation. Desperately trying to maintain the pretence of independence and conformity with the constitution, the council called a ‘private conference’, to which the resident was invited. This unofficial session had an entirely official outcome: Serra, ‘taking upon himself responsibility before the king’, persuaded the ministers to announce the devaluation of the Prussian coinage without waiting for an answer from Dresden. The final blow to the prestige of the Polish authorities was dealt by Davout when he made a special visit to the capital. His meeting with the Minsters of Internal Affairs and Police, the prefect of the Warsaw Department and mayor of Warsaw took place in an atmosphere no doubt familiar to incompetent officers of the marshal’s corps: ‘Insults rained down on them like hail,’ Niemcewicz noted. The impulsive marshal is even supposed to have threatened to shoot the mayor if ‘bread is not cheaper and in greater supply’. The calm reaction of the mayor, coolly announcing that his death would ‘not force bakers to ruin themselves for the sake of appeasing the public’, deflated the situation. It was one of the last such sharp interventions by Davout against the Polish authorities. A few months later, by which time the marshal had left the Duchy, relations were not devoid of warmth. Immediately following his departure, he sent a letter to be read out in the Council of State ‘containing words of praise for the Polish nation and army’.21 The marshal’s sympathy for the cause of Polish independence did not prevent him from treating the Duchy’s ministers like mayors of small towns occupied by his corps. In the case of the devaluation of the Prussian coinage, one reason for his brutal intervention may have been fear of a further escalation in events that could have resulted in French soldiers, whose pay had been exchanged into worthless copper coins, standing on one side of the closed doors of bakeries, while on the other stood the populace incensed by the lack of bread. Whatever the motives, however, of the marshal and the resident, their political effect was unambiguous: influential individuals, but ones outside the Duchy’s constitutional system of government, forced the Council of State to take a decision that was the exclusive privilege of the king. The king, we should add, sanctioned the decision forced on his ministers – which says a lot about the extraordinary position of both French dignitaries in the Duchy, and of the actual position of its ruler on the political stage of Napoleonic Europe. The attitude of the king, who accepted without much resistance decisions affecting the Duchy taken in Paris, did little to strengthen the position of his ministers in their contacts with the French. Proof of this was the attempt made by the Council of State to define the status of donations awarded by Napoleon. In 1807 the emperor rewarded twenty-seven marshals and generals, including Dąbrowski, Poniatowski and Zajączek, with landed estates taken from the Duchy’s state lands. Their combined value exceeded thirty million zlotys. These donations reduced income to the Treasury from state lands by about 20 per cent. The imperial decree was accepted without protest, acknowledged as part of the extraneous costs of Napoleon’s protectorate. In negotiations with the new owners, however, Polish officials believed – in accordance with the former

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law – that they should incur the same liabilities – duties, taxes, services to the army – as other landowners. Forests lying on their domains were to remain the property of the Treasury. The position of the Polish authorities prompted a note from Vincent as well as intervention from those awarded by the emperor. The dispute was resolved by a decree issued by the king. He underlined how ‘only the magnanimous and gracious feelings’ of Napoleon could ‘establish and guarantee the prosperity of the Duchy of Warsaw’. Following this clear appeal to political realism, the ruler condemned the ‘misplaced zeal’ of official agencies trying to reduce the incomes of French generals. He resolved the majority of contentious questions to the advantage of the beneficiaries. Only after long negotiations with them was it established that they were obliged to pay taxes. The king’s decision placed representatives of the Napoleonic elite possessing lands in the Duchy above the law binding in it.22 The prospect of losing some of the state’s sources of income alarmed the Duchy’s ministers. More than half, or even two-thirds according to some estimates, of the Treasury’s outgoings went on supporting the army. Enormous costs were likewise incurred by Napoleon’s order to rebuild fortresses. Between August 1807 and May 1808 alone, the fortification work swallowed a million zlotys. Substantial sums were also expended on the civil service, the king’s salary amounting to seven million annually, compensation to clergy for land confiscated by the former Prussian administration, and part of the costs of maintaining French troops. Income to the state Treasury lagged behind outgoings. One reason was the difficult economic situation of the Duchy. The continental blockade introduced by Napoleon cut off landowning szlachta dealing in corn from trading outlets. The effect was, as Skarbek puts it, though he probably exaggerated, ‘the instant bankruptcy of an agricultural country’. Landowners suffered the most, although all strata of the population bore the cost of economic destabilization prompted by lack of outlets for grain, the shortage of money on the market, violent price rises and problems with the supply of basic articles. The situation of the state Treasury became catastrophic. It depended on several sources of income. Land taxes brought in ever less income due to losses incurred by landowners as a result of the blockade, and devastation caused to their estates by military operations. Interruption to traditional foreign trading routes because of the state borders established at Tilsit, led to a fall in income from customs duties. Reduction in inhabitants’ incomes and the drop in consumption connected with it reduced in turn income from excise duty. Another, though difficult to assess, factor affecting the Treasury’s financial problems was the inefficient system for calculating and exacting the taxes due. The Council of State watched the growing deficit in the balance of payments with trepidation. In emergencies, the situation was saved through extraordinary taxes ordered by the king. Ministers tried to satisfy the needs of the army, appealing to taxpayers’ ‘patriotic sacrifices’. They also strove to control the mounting deficit by collecting taxes in advance for the forthcoming period and issuing loan papers secured on state lands. The latter, however, did not yield the expected results – the Duchy lacked suitable capital, while such loans were treated more as the next round of civic sacrifices than as capital investments. Given this situation, it was hard to place even minimal trust in the financial initiatives of the authorities. Foreign financiers, with whom negotiations were begun, had no intention of investing money in a country whose

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political future was so uncertain. The state’s galloping deficit assumed catastrophic proportions in the spring of 1808. Expenditure now twice exceeded the Treasury’s income of nearly thirty million zlotys. The Council of State was forced to appeal to the king for ‘paternal assistance’. It believed the only hope of decreasing expenditure was to obtain the emperor’s agreement to withdraw French troops from the Duchy as well as reduce the size of the Polish peacetime army. The situation was further exacerbated by the Duchy’s financial indebtedness to Napoleon. Apart from the costs of arming the Polish army, this meant the debts owed by landowners to the Prussian Treasury and other creditors – the once cheap and easily available credits drawn by Polish nobles before 1806. Napoleon claimed these debts, estimated at more than forty-three million francs, as spoils of war. The Polish side also emphasized its right to the debts owed to Prussia (because after 1807 the debtors became citizens of the Duchy and the indebted lands were on its territory). Final negotiations took place on 10 May 1808 in Bayonne, where Napoleon was finalizing his plan to take the throne in Madrid from the Bourbons. In a convention concluded with Frederick Augustus, the emperor, declaring his wish to rescue the Duchy’s finances, reduced his financial claims. He also sold back to the king the Duchy’s outstanding debts to Prussia in exchange for twenty million francs to be paid over three years. This agreement, promising the Polish side profits of more than twenty million francs, seemed on the surface to be advantageous. In reality, it was Napoleon who benefited – though not as much as he had envisaged. He agreed to a lower sum, but one easier to procure. A convention guaranteeing payments in instalments from the Duchy’s Treasury had greater chance of success than the laborious extraction of insignificant quotas from individual debtors. The future was to show that the condition of the state’s finances rendered fulfilment of the agreement impossible. Only a proportion of debts were paid, and in 1810 an extension to the deadline was negotiated for remaining debts to be paid over the next ten years. The ‘Bayonne sums’ also did not flow into the Duchy’s Treasury, which became in effect the creditor of the indebted landowners. Exacting the debts met with resistance – the government, not wishing to drive landowners to complete ruin, periodically suspended the execution of their outstanding debts.23 Decisions were also taken in Bayonne that determined the fate of thousands of Polish soldiers. Napoleon perceived the strain on the Duchy’s finances caused by expenditure on the army; however, he had no intention of reducing its numbers. According to a signed agreement, he transferred 8,000 Polish soldiers to the French payroll promising at the same time that ‘the King of Saxony could recover [them] whenever he wanted’. Napoleon’s decision came as a major relief to the Treasury, but to Polish commanders it signified a weakening of the army. Davout’s professionalism demanded he supply the emperor with the best regiments and – what is more – those commanded by colonels who enjoyed ‘high esteem with regard to their wealth and attributes’. A propagandist message was thus conveyed to the Poles: a true patriot serving Napoleon also serves Poland, even outside its borders. In the autumn of 1808, the so-called Division of the Duchy of Warsaw, consisting of three infantry regiments as well as a company of artillery and sappers, arrived in Spain, where the initial spontaneous demonstrations by the population and army against the authority of King Joseph Bonaparte, thrust upon them by Napoleon, had degenerated into

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war. Also stationed in Spain were Polish Chevaulégers of the Imperial Guard, three infantry regiments of the Vistula Legion and a regiment of Vistula Uhlans (Lancers). It is estimated that about 24,000 Polish soldiers participated in the war in Spain over the next few years. The majority of Polish soldiers made their way home only in the spring of 1812. Before then, they had taken part in many important battles including Somosierra, Tudela, Saragossa, Almonacid, Ocaña, Fuengirola and Albufera. The participation of Poles in the Spanish war aroused mixed feelings. For the majority of officers and soldiers, it was a fulfilment of their dreams of military glory and patriotic duty at the same time. Many would have had no hesitation signing up to the words of 23-year-old Colonel Antoni Sułkowski: ‘In serving the emperor, we are also serving our fatherland.’ At home, the presence of a Polish contingent on the Iberian Peninsula was regarded as a condition for maintaining Napoleon’s protectorate over the Polish question. News of the courage displayed by Polish soldiers, famous from newspaper reports as well as correspondence, inspired pride. Not without reason did Sułkowski, a Napoleonic enthusiast and young man with enormous ambitions, describe in a detailed letter to his wife how he kept up morale in his regiment at the battle of Ocaña: ‘Seeing that my nation’s honour was threatened in that moment, I seized the standard and moved to the front shouting that the glory of our fatherland demanded it was better to perish than retreat, and that I would regard any soldier who threw down his eagle as unworthy of being called a Pole.’ The attitude of Polish soldiers in these famous battles also inspired political hope: ‘This chivalric courage of ours, this Polish blood, shed in distant lands, places our nation in high esteem in Napoleon’s eyes and will remind him that so valiant a people should not have to sink any longer beneath a foreign yoke,’ Niemcewicz supposed. Behind the glory and distinctions, however, lurked the murky aspect of a war waged not only against the enemy’s regular units but against hostile civilians and partisans. In their memoirs, Polish combatants give many examples of the cruelty of the Spanish guerrillas. They mention very little of their own activities away from the battlefield; brutal repressions against civilians and confiscation of property were however the daily bread of war. Rumours about the ‘atrocities of the war’ in Spain reached the Duchy despite French censorship of private correspondence and endeavours of writers themselves not to shock their relatives with drastic descriptions. With time, the wartime actions of their countrymen provoked not only pride, but also bitter reflection on the ruthlessness of political reality. The dilemma emerging for many was perhaps expressed most succinctly by poet Kantorbery Tymowski: ‘Why the fine laurels stained by neighbour’s blood? / Ill-fated ourselves, we have routed the ill-fated.’24 At the beginning of 1809, not only was Poles’ attention riveted by the events in faraway Spain but their emotions were running high because of the approaching sessions of the Duchy’s first Sejm. In January and February, sittings took place of local sejmiki and commune assemblies, at which envoys and commune representatives were elected. Celebratory masses inaugurating sessions, candidates’ bombastic rhetoric and banquets marking the close of proceedings might well have recalled the political customs of the former Commonwealth. The inauguration of the Sejm was anticipated with great interest. The majority of the population interested in public life linked the approaching sessions to the pre-partition political tradition. The ‘fiery’ – according to

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Niemcewicz – speech delivered by Wybicki on the first day of proceedings emphasizing Poles’ gratitude to God’s ‘emissary’ Napoleon, whose ‘mighty hand had torn the tribe of Chrobry and Sobieski from the tomb of death and ignominy of life, and led it afresh onto the field of glory and virtue’, was a reference to their great national hopes. During proceedings, envoys and commune representatives did not disappoint the authors of numerous brochures published in the run-up to the Sejm calling for national unity and renunciation of ‘factional’ infighting – familiar from former Sejms – which weakened the state. Despite this, a heated dispute flared up in the Chamber of Envoys between representatives of the Council of State and their critics led by Józef Godlewski. It concerned above all the excessive, in the opinion of many, growth in the civil service and the government’s high rate of expenditure. The conflict, which came dangerously close to scandal, was smoothed over thanks to the mediation of Frederick Augustus. Eventually, the chamber passed the most important bills ‘in gratitude’ to the king, above all additional taxes amounting to eighteen million zlotys.25 The atmosphere of patriotic zeal and readiness to make sacrifices prevailing in the debating chamber resulted above all, however, from awareness of the tense political situation on the continent. Less than two years after the Tilsit peace treaty, Europe found itself once again on the brink of war.

4

1809: War on the Periphery

On the evening of 15 April 1809, the wife of General Fiszer, chief of staff of the army of the Duchy of Warsaw, watched from a window as Prince Józef Poniatowski accompanied by her husband conducted a review of the 8th Infantry Regiment. The unit had just completed a forced march to Warsaw: ‘The soldiers had ragged uniforms and no boots. I heard the Prince say … it would be impossible to order them to march in this state. Then they shouted with one voice that … they would fight no worse than others.’ The Duchy’s empty coffers meant that the poor state of equipment in the majority of regiments was the norm rather than the exception. By April 1809 even soldiers quick to grouch had ceased drawing attention to it. The evening before (14  April), an Austrian officer had arrived at the Polish commander’s camp in the frontier town of Nowe Miasto with the news that Archduke Ferdinand d’Este’s corps amassed on the border would invade the Duchy’s territory during the next twelve hours. Shortly afterwards, further units of the Austrian concentration numbering 31,000 soldiers crossed the River Pilica advancing towards Warsaw. The news came as no surprise to the Duchy’s rulers. Three days earlier, Stanisław Kostka Potocki had received a warning about Austrian plans from informants in Galicia. The political situation in Europe as well as information about the prevailing mood among Vienna’s political elite gave sufficient cause for increased vigilance. In wars waged against France since 1792, Austria had forfeited a series of possessions, not to mention influence in the German states now forming the Confederation of the Rhine subservient to Napoleon. Defeats threatening the Habsburg monarchy with total political marginalization inclined Francis I and his circle to contemplate revenge. Gradually the war party, pushing for swift armed confrontation, gained the upper hand. Influenced by news of escalating hostility towards French domination in the confederated German states, its slogans grew in popularity. Napoleon’s ever deeper involvement in the war in Spain, where in 1809 almost 200,000 of the emperor’s soldiers were already engaged, likewise favoured Austrian war plans. Austrian diplomacy led to the creation of a fifth anti-French coalition which included Britain, Spain and Portugal. The war plan devised in the general staff of the Austrian army under Archduke Charles’s command envisaged its main strike on the territory of Bavaria. Smaller units were to invade the Kingdom of Italy, Dalmatia and the Tyrol. The invasion of the Duchy of Warsaw was assigned to the corps under Archduke Ferdinand. The aim was the swift occupation of Warsaw and the destruction or capitulation of the Polish army. For the Austrians, in terms of numbers of forces

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engaged, the Duchy of Warsaw was a secondary theatre of military operations – less crucial than Italy, to where approximately 75,000 troops were dispatched, yet treated more seriously than the Tyrol or Dalmatia, where only a few thousand were sent. This was no indication, however, of its political importance. Archduke Charles advised his cousin to make the action fast and decisive. Conquest of Napoleon’s protectorate on the Vistula would allow the Austrians to kill two birds with one stone. It would liquidate the core of a reviving Polish state, which they regarded as dangerous. Swift occupation of the lands of the former Prussian Partition would also strengthen Austria’s position in negotiations with Prussia, which remained neutral in the war. In Vienna they believed that an Austrian diplomat offering the Duchy of Warsaw in exchange for an alliance against Napoleon might receive a warm reception in Berlin. If, however, Frederick William III was unwilling to risk war against France, the lands of the former Prussian Partition could be offered instead to Russia, in order to lure it away from its alliance with the French emperor concluded at Tilsit. The Austrian preparations for war were known in the Duchy thanks to the intelligence service organized by Davout, in which a significant role was played in controlling correspondence by chief postmaster Ignacy Zajączek, brother of the general. Through Poniatowski’s cooperation, Davout received information from cavalry units patrolling the border as well as from Poles travelling to the Duchy from the Austrian Partition. These sources repeatedly mentioned the movement of Austrian troops into Galicia and the organization there of food supplies. The warnings pouring in from Polish intelligence sources did not especially arouse Napoleon’s concern. The emperor did not believe Archduke Charles would decide to weaken his main striking force by apportioning troops to an invasion of the peripheral Duchy. Furthermore, such an attack ought to have provoked the entry into the war of France’s ally, Russia. The Austrians were therefore not only scattering their forces but also exposing themselves to a serious threat from the Russian army operating in their rear. Napoleon expected rather that they would post a small observational corps on the Duchy’s border. Thus, he advised Poniatowski to conduct a display of armed force in the border regions or march on Kraków. The emperor’s deductions conformed to his own principle of concentrating maximum strength in one place chosen for a decisive blow. He was misled, however, by faith in the power of the commitments made by Alexander I at Tilsit. He was unaware that Austrian diplomacy had succeeded in gaining the tsar’s assurance that, following the attack on the Duchy, he would formally enter the war against Austria but his troops would confine themselves to fake operations. The situation of the Polish army was difficult. Far removed from French corps concentrated in Germany, the Poles could rely only on Russian help or their own forces. These, however, were less than modest. The exit of Davout’s corps from the Duchy and the redirection of several Polish regiments to Spain, as well as to fortresses outside the Duchy’s borders, may well have reduced the Treasury’s expenditure, but it also diminished the state’s defence capabilities. Although a successful round of additional conscription had been carried out at the beginning of April, increasing numbers of inexperienced recruits could not immediately enhance the army’s fighting strength. Of the approximately 18,000 soldiers stationed in the Duchy’s territory, only a little over 14,000 could be led into battle. In case of an attack on Warsaw, the majority were

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concentrated on the outskirts of Warsaw near the intersection of the highways along which the enemy would have to march.1 The outbreak of war came as no surprise to Poniatowski and the Council of State. However, the speed of Austrian operations caught them unawares. Archduke Ferdinand’s aim was to take Warsaw at lightning speed and cut off the Polish army’s retreat into Saxony or to the fortresses of Küstrin and Danzig (Gdańsk), where Napoleonic troops were stationed. He almost succeeded in executing the first part of his plan. On 19 April the Austrian corps stood outside Warsaw. Further progress required breaking the resistance of Poniatowski’s army concentrated at Raszyn, a few miles south of the city. Poniatowski occupied a strong position protected by a small river, ponds and bogs. An advance guard – two battalions under General Sokolnicki’s command reinforced by several guns – was to delay the enemy’s offensive against the Poles’ actual line of defence. Confident of their numerical advantage, the Austrians made no effort to undertake complicated manoeuvres, hindered anyway by conditions on the ground that favoured the defenders. From 3 o’clock in the afternoon, Austrian infantry columns began fullfrontal strikes on the Polish positions. The main force of the attack was suffered by the advance guard. The fierce battle for the woods, screening the main line of defence and conducted by veteran legionaries – General Sokolnicki and Colonel Godebski – has become the stuff of legend. The position changed hands several times. In the moment when the drained Polish advance guard began its retreat, Poniatowski entered the battlefield. Perceiving the critical situation, musket in hand, he led an effective counter-attack. Only by about 7 o’clock did the Austrians oust the Polish forces from their position and begin a direct onslaught on Raszyn. Several hours of subsequent fierce fighting brought them no success. The defensive battle fought by Poniatowski against a numerically superior enemy ended in success – all the greater since a large percentage of soldiers in the Polish regiments were inexperienced recruits. The commanders tried to strengthen morale by flaunting their own bravado. In his report after the battle, Poniatowski emphasized that the majority of staff officers ‘through either wounds sustained or a killed or wounded horse, could prove they had sought and found danger’. The commanders’ example had a positive effect on the attitude of soldiers. Success, however, brought many losses. The battle’s main hero (apart from Sokolnicki), Cyprian Godebski, was among the dead. After the battle, Poniatowski was left with only about 10,000 troops at his disposal.2 Once the battle fervour had subsided, both sides found themselves in an awkward situation. Archduke Ferdinand, surprised at the resistance shown by Poniatowski, had no desire to involve his corps in an assault on the city. Poniatowski also wished to avoid a battle for Warsaw. He realized the Austrians had the numerical advantage, while he had insufficient troops to man extended lines of defence. On the request of Archduke Ferdinand, a meeting took place between the two commanders-in-chief, during which Prince Józef rejected the proposed capitulation and renunciation of Napoleon, and suggested instead a truce. According to the agreed convention, the Polish army was to leave Warsaw within two days and cross to the right bank of the Vistula. Wounded and sick soldiers were guaranteed safe return to their units once they had recovered. The

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Austrians also committed themselves to not imposing financial contributions on the city and respecting the private property of inhabitants. Surrendering the city to the Austrians was not easy for Poniatowski. His decision was preceded by heated discussions in which General Zajączek and Resident Serra, supported by the Jacobin circle reactivated by events, were initially in favour of attempting to defend the city. The Council of State, clearly thrown off balance by developments, gave little support to the commander-in-chief. One advocate for abandoning the city, however, was Dąbrowski, who proposed not a retreat towards Danzig but an invasion of Galicia. A demonstration of military force in this direction had been Napoleon’s advice to Poniatowski before the outbreak of the war. Prince Józef chose this course of action. It involved no slight risk given that he, who concluded a convention handing over the capital to the Austrians, was the nephew of the last king of Poland, accused by many Poles of treachery. The strained atmosphere encouraged a radicalization of views. Poniatowski’s words to the commander of artillery, General Pelletier, come as no surprise therefore: ‘I fear I may have undersigned my own shame.’ His fears were confirmed by the hostile reaction of the crowds lining the route of the army’s march out. Inhabitants reviling traitors and hurling insults at the prince’s suite did not realize that by crossing to the right bank of the Vistula, the Polish army increased its potential for action. Essential time was gained for calling to arms new recruits and volunteers from departments free of the enemy. The army disengaged itself from the enemy and found support for further operations in the strongholds of Modlin, Serock and Praga. It therefore acquired freedom of manoeuvre and the possibility to assume the initiative. Poniatowski, Dąbrowski and Zajączek, realizing the need to suspend the rifts between them, sprang into action. Aiming to speedily expand the size of the army, they drew on the tried and tested methods of 1806–7. Prefects or well-known leaders of the local nobility were appointed as chief commanders in the departments. The formation of new cavalry and infantry regiments became the responsibility of commanding officers, usually appointed from among already serving or retired officers. The rapid enlargement of the army during the course of the campaign enabled existing units to be supplemented by new recruits and several new cavalry and infantry regiments to be formed. These activities sometimes led to conflicts with the civil administration. Among the military, the conviction prevailed that the number of soldiers summoned to arms took precedence over legal procedures. The civil authorities were required to implement improvised operations or agree to part of their powers being transferred to the military. Civil administrators, on the other hand, defended their powers against alleged attempts to introduce ‘military rule’. The Council of State itself was seriously disturbed by some of Poniatowski’s decisions, which encroached on the functions of the judiciary and civil service. The confrontation of perspectives took place in a dramatic situation which indeed demanded decisions to be promptly taken and realized effectively. This created areas of understanding between some senior officers and the group of former Jacobins, whose experience of the 1794 insurrection convinced them of the need for energetic action, even when it violated the legal and political framework of the state. Debarred so far from the majority of significant posts, they must have perceived from the start of

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the war, possibilities for strengthening their own position on the political stage. Their chances were enhanced by the decline in importance of the Council of State which was unable, in many people’s opinion, to find its feet in this difficult situation, as well as by criticism provoked by the incompetent functioning – also in the opinion of many – of the civil service subordinate to it. Prospects for strengthening the Jacobins’ political influence appeared promising, since Poniatowski – criticized by them at the onset of the war for his aristocratic attitudes – had proved ready to cooperate with people stemming from a different political tradition to his own. Explaining to one minister why he had decided to entrust a responsible post to an oppositionist figure poorly regarded by the authorities and the king, Poniatowski clearly stated he had considered ‘his ability to carry out orders’, not his attitude to the government. The commander-inchief was to apply this principle also in the coming weeks of war.3 Arguments between the military and civil authorities did not significantly delay the Polish side’s preparations for war. The position of both warring sides, following the evacuation of the capital, opened up to Poniatowski new possibilities for action. Archduke Ferdinand had not succeeded in his main goal – to force the Polish army to capitulate. Lack of control over the whole territory of the Duchy of Warsaw prevented Austrian diplomacy from tempting Berlin with the return of its lost lands. The Austrians also miscalculated in their attempts to arouse anti-Napoleonic sentiments among Poles. ‘Is it for your good that your brothers’ blood is shed before the walls of Madrid …? Does the bravery of your soldiers do anything to improve your lives?’ – Archduke Ferdinand appealed to the Duchy’s inhabitants, trying to convince them that the ‘special protection’ guaranteed by Emperor Francis I would spare them disasters linked to the destruction of trade and the economy, and the state’s financial crisis. In Vienna, news of Polish dissatisfaction was clearly overestimated. Entering Warsaw, the Austrians were greeted not with cheers as liberators from the Napoleonic yoke, but with hostile silence and society’s boycott of the salons. The latter was not even overcome by former contacts between Polish aristocrats and the Austrian elite. Ladies made a demonstration of wearing mourning clothes, ‘public promenades and theatres shone with emptiness’ – the diarist recalled.4 Archduke Ferdinand had more important reasons for frustration, however, than the lack of opportunity to admire Warsaw’s ‘famous beauties’. Paradoxically, from the strategic point of view, the occupation of Warsaw had complicated his position. In planning further operations, he had to remember the need to secure his gains, which limited his scope for initiative and reduced the forces he was able to deploy. An attempt to transfer a large part of his forces to the right bank of the Vistula also ended in disaster. On the night of 2–3 May, Sokolnicki’s units smashed an Austrian regiment protecting the construction of a bridge near Ostrówek. The Austrians lost more than a thousand prisoners of war and several hundred soldiers killed, as well as the possibility of directly threatening Poniatowski’s army. Events revealed that the strategic initiative had slipped from their hands.5 Shortly after the victory at Ostrówek, Poniatowski moved along the right bank of the Vistula invading territory seized by Austria during the Third Partition. He launched an offensive with no chance of support from the Grande Armée. He also lacked vital information enabling him to assess the overall strategic situation on all

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fronts of the war. Even urgent correspondence from Berthier and other of Napoleon’s marshals reached the prince’s quarters three weeks late. Substantial swathes of the Duchy remained in Austrian hands or were continually threatened by Austrian operations. Yet a few days after the invasion of Galicia, the Council of State complained to the king that such action ‘at this moment is not only of no use to our country, but is also stripping it of its strongest means of defence’. Civilian dignitaries clearly lacked Napoleon’s readiness to take risks. The scale of the risk, however, was increased by the unknown stance of Russia. As Napoleon’s ally, Alexander I should have assisted the Duchy of Warsaw. Having been interrogated on the matter by Serra, the Council of State turned to Alexander. Their appeal to a recent enemy exposed ministers to criticism from sections of the military. Poniatowski was sceptical about the likelihood of any real assistance from Russia. Poniatowski himself, like the majority of his soldiers, was banking instead on an enthusiastic reception from compatriots living under Austrian rule. There were justified reasons for this. The events of 1806–7 in the Prussian Partition had inspired a wave of patriotic feeling in Galicia, especially among young noblemen. Several score young men from the Austrian Partition, irrespective of possible repressions, had crossed the border illegally in order to put on a Polish uniform. The mood prevailing in Galicia had also been monitored for a long time by Polish intelligence. On the basis of reports about Polish hostility to Austrian rule, the Polish high command had cause for optimism, although it no doubt also recalled the criticism of the Napoleonic Code and the Duchy’s constitution among the Galician aristocracy and wealthy szlachta.6 The initial weeks of Poniatowski’s operations in Galicia consisted of a series of successes. His cavalry, marching in the vanguard, took successive towns with little difficulty. On 10 May cavalry units entered Lublin: ‘It was an extraordinary sight to see women at all the windows and balconies waving their handkerchiefs and cheering the oncoming troops,’ one witness recalled. Soon afterwards, the city greeted the entry of Poniatowski’s main army equally warmly. This was the first experience of its kind the prince had known in his Polish army service stretching back to 1789. Presumably because of it, he took part all the more willingly in a great ball given by the city, at which he danced enthusiastically also with the admiring daughters of Austrian officials. The occupation of Lublin was a prestigious success for the Poles. It did not necessarily determine, however, the outcome of the entire expedition. Crucially important to the further development of events was the capture of the powerful – at least in Polish terms – fortress at Zamość and the well-fortified town of Sandomierz. Supplies of weapons and ammunition were found in their stores. The strategic position of both centres meant their conquest opened up new possibilities to Poniatowski’s forces. They could march on Lwów (Lemberg, L’viv), turn towards Kraków, or even towards Moravia, which would have brought them close to areas where the Grande Armée was operating. On 18 May a force under Sokolnicki, who experienced his greatest moments during this campaign, captured Sandomierz. On 20 May units under General Jean Pelletier took Zamość during a night-time storm when more than 2,000 Austrian prisoners were taken. A significant number were Polish recruits who laid down their arms at the first opportunity.7

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Poniatowski’s pleasure at his victories must have been tempered, however, by knowledge that the course of the war was not determined exclusively on the battlefield. Immediately after his occupation of Lublin, he was handed a letter, which had been intercepted by General Rożniecki’s uhlans, from one of the Russian generals stationed on the border to Archduke Ferdinand. The Russian congratulated Ferdinand on his occupation of Warsaw and declared his own and his subordinates’ heartfelt desire for a joint struggle against the Poles. The letter was sent immediately to Napoleon as proof of the Russians’ real intentions.8 In no way, however, did this improve Poniatowski’s position: in planning further operations, he had to take into account the difficulties the emperor’s uncertain ally might cause. By occupying Sandomierz, Poniatowski’s forces threatened the lines of communication between Archduke Ferdinand’s corps and Austria. This might have inclined the Austrians to redirect their greatest concentration of troops to Galicia in order to retake the lost positions. Prince Józef decided, therefore, to position a significant force between Zamość and Sandomierz. Four cavalry regiments under Rożniecki pushed further towards the south-east, meanwhile, with the task of breaking the line of communication between Kraków and Lwów. This would have created another threat to the Archduke’s corps and may have hastened his decision to withdraw from the Duchy. Rożniecki fulfilled the task entrusted to him unexpectedly well. Raids by his squadrons, conducted across vast terrains poorly defended by sparse Austrian forces, led to the rapid occupation of new territories. Impressed by these successes, Poniatowski agreed to Rożniecki’s continued march east. On 27 May seventeen (!) chasseurs entered Lwów, abandoned in panic by the Austrian authorities. Larger contingents of the Polish army entered the city the next day. Scenes experienced in Lublin were repeated: ‘The first ladies in name and fortune’ spread Turkish kilims beneath the hooves of the uhlans’ horses. According to an eye witness: ‘People kissed the Polish eagles on the soldier’s caps, kissed horses and men, food and drink was brought,’ after which a ‘merry procession’ of students and common people shouting in honour of Poland and Napoleon ‘hurled down and smashed Austrian insignia’.9 A situation, in which Prince Józef ’s regiments could operate freely in the peculiar strategic vacuum between the Austrian forces in Moravia and Archduke Ferdinand’s corps in the Duchy, could not last for long however. The Austrian commander realized Polish troops had encroached on his rear and were liberating successive districts [Kreise] in Galicia. Attempts to take Toruń (Thorn) in the second half of May as well as operations ordered by the Archduke in Wielkopolska likewise ended in failure. The Austrian high command was faced with a strategic impasse, since Prussia could not be tempted to risk entering an anti-Napoleonic coalition. Given this situation, relieving his own lines of communication occupied by Poniatowski’s army and pacifying Poles rebelling against their Habsburg rulers were considerably more important to Ferdinand than subduing the Duchy. He therefore concentrated part of his forces around Warsaw while directing, at the same time, one of his divisions back to Galicia. The tables might still have turned in Austria’s favour, since at more or less this same time, on 21–22 May, corps of the Grande Armée had suffered painful defeats at Aspern and Essling. Further actions undertaken by both sides had little in common with Napoleon’s art of warfare: instead of seeking a battle that might decide the outcome of the war, Polish

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and Austrian commanders led manoeuvres intending rather to leave their opponents in a difficult situation. Poniatowski was also forced to do this because a Russian corps under Prince Golitsyn now entered the game. The Russian side had remained totally passive in the face of the initial successes of the Austrian offensive against the Duchy. However, the tsar and his generals were disturbed by Poniatowski’s successes in Galicia, by the possible annexation of parts of Galician territory by the Duchy, and by the patriotic ferment among Poles inhabiting the Russian Partition bordering on Galicia. On 2 June Golitsyn’s units invaded the Austrian Partition. According to their instructions, they were to avoid clashes with the Austrians, but at the same time occupy as much as they could of Galician territory before the Polish army did so. The course of events in Galicia could well have raised the hopes of Poles living in Volhynia, Podolia and Ukraine, incorporated into Russia by the partitions. Their mood was affected not only by the appearance of soldiers in Polish national uniform in neighbouring lands of the Austrian Partition. The patriotic mobilization of Poles in Galicia itself must also have made an enormous impression. This was not confined to enthusiastic reactions to the sight of a national army. Numerous volunteers appeared in the quarters of Polish commanders at all levels declaring their wish to join the ranks. Representatives of the local elite suggested that Poniatowski should proclaim a levée en masse [pospolite ruszenie], that is, a general call to arms, in response to which ‘the whole population would grab its scythes and pikes’. The commander-in-chief opposed improvised operations; he therefore ordered the population to ‘arm itself regularly, eagerly, but without violent agitation’.10 Without any clear instructions from Napoleon about how to proceed in Galicia, he took the risk of creating new military units in the territory of the Austrian Partition. In so doing, he did not forget the political camouflage needed to induce Napoleon to accept this decision: the regiments were to be formed as a ‘Galician-French army’ and thus officially unconnected with the ‘army of the Duchy of Warsaw’. Supervision of the formation of the Galician units was undertaken by officers and former soldiers appointed by Poniatowski, as organizers of military insurgencies in individual Kreise. Individual units, composed of volunteers or peasants ‘donated’ by local landed citizens, were formed thanks to the initiative of wealthy funders, inter alia Konstanty Czartoryski, Stanisław Małachowski, Adam Potocki and Stanisław Zamoyski. By the end of the war in Galicia, they had succeeded in organizing three infantry and seven cavalry regiments. A vast number of Poles in the Austrian Partition actively supported the Napoleonic side irrespective of the risk of Austrian repression, which could accuse them of ‘state treason’. The threat was real. Names of people sentenced by Austrian military courts to death by firing squad appear in various accounts. The attitude of Poles in Galicia was no doubt encouraged by hopes aroused by the creation of the Duchy of Warsaw, and also by their dislike of the corrupt, onerous Austrian civil service. The wide range of active support for the invading Polish army was made possible above all thanks to the stance of the Galician szlachta and aristocracy. As in the Prussian Partition in 1806, the sight of the partitioning power’s defeats revitalized the pre-partition community of noble citizens. Some, however, were initially cautious and restrained. Liberation from Habsburg rule could place certain wealthy landowners and aristocrats linked to the Viennese court through ties of official service and dependence in an awkward

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position. First and foremost among them was the universally respected Adam Kazimierz Czartoryski, father of Adam Jerzy Czartoryski (the son having remained in Russian service). Former commander of the Military Academy [Szkoła Rycerska] in Warsaw, where many generals and colonels of the Polish army had been educated, he had been honoured in his time by the Austrian authorities with the rank of field marshal. Although this was an exclusively honorary title, in the moment when the Polish army was drawing near to his residence at Puławy, Prince Adam Kazimierz had to find a suitable alibi to give the Austrian authorities in case Poniatowski’s incursion into Galicia failed. Thanks to the tact of the Polish commander-in-chief, the situation was defused. Poniatowski informed ‘His Excellency the Prince, Field Marshal in the service of the Austrian Emperor’, that he should regard himself as a prisoner of war, but could remain in his palace so long as he renounced operations ‘harmful to the units under my command’. This information was conveyed by Poniatowski’s adjutant, a former legionary, once – significantly for this story – ransomed by Czartoryski from Turkish captivity in Istanbul.11 The commander-in-chief was well aware that the fate of the war remained uncertain, and the Galician expedition was a risky undertaking. Even in the case of its successful conclusion, any decision about the future of the liberated lands would be Napoleon’s. Regarded until recently as irresponsible, Poniatowski demonstrated a sense of responsibility towards his compatriots in the Austrian Partition. Initially, therefore, instead of immediately calling them to arms, he distinctly advised them, already in discussions with szlachta representatives in Lublin, to ‘avoid excessive enthusiasm and do everything as though under protest’. He also recommended giving all orders ‘under pain of death’, so that if the Austrians returned, anyone accused of cooperating with the Polish army could put forward a formal justification for his actions. It was necessary, however, to create some form of administration in the occupied territories, if only to secure a suitable supply base and infrastructure for military operations. Austrian officials, if they had not fled, were left in post, while Polish ‘supervisors’ were appointed alongside them in the various Kreise. Increasing numbers of soldiers joining the ranks and the seizure of new territories in Galicia forced Poniatowski and the Council of State to introduce further changes. Aiming to create energetic institutions effectively satisfying the needs of the army, they appealed to French models. The administration of Galicia was placed according to ‘martial law’ in the hands of the army and headed by an intendant [intendent generalny]. Its activities, albeit effective, soon provoked a wave of criticism in Galicia. The intendant’s opponents wanted to know if Galicia was a liberated country or one conquered by the Polish army. On 2 June Poniatowski called into being the ‘Provisional Central Military Government under the protection of his Excellency the Emperor and King, Napoleon the Great’. Its establishment was in part the result of attempts by the Galician aristocracy  and wealthy szlachta to gain greater influence over the administration of the province. Poniatowski and the Council of State were also afraid that invading Russian units could occupy Galician lands ignoring protests from the provisional Polish authorities. The Polish administration was therefore given a weightier status by announcing it was acting under Napoleon’s protection. Prince Józef invited representatives of Galicia’s most influential milieus to join his government. Count

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Stanisław Zamoyski, related by marriage to the powerful Czartoryski family, became its chairman. He was joined by representatives of the wealthy szlachta still linked to the Czartoryskis. Such ‘great dynasties’ – above all the Zamoyskis and Czartoryskis – had much greater influence over moods and attitudes than in the Prussian Partition. Appealing to their support increased the new government’s chances of success. It enabled hosts of former clients of both families, still bound to their former patrons by ties of loyalty, sentiment and personal interest, to be won over. Proclaiming the decision to occupy Galicia in Napoleon’s name aroused the consternation of local patriots. Following the initial enthusiasm, a certain crisis of mood was tangible, prompted by the often arbitrary activities of the military intendancy, or by the army’s occasional excesses. Napoleonic models of army organization as well as habits of the officer cadre had little in common, in the opinion of some observers, with a liberationist impulse. Prince Józef ’s old comrade-in-arms, Prince Eustachy Sanguszko, observed with surprise that the Galician expedition resembled rather a conquest, ‘because the French cause took priority over that of the fatherland’.12 Poniatowski’s concerns over political safeguards for his military operations proved well founded, however. Although Warsaw had been abandoned by the Austrian garrison on 1 June and then reoccupied by the Poles, the strategic position of the Polish army in Galicia deteriorated. Dispersed over considerable distances, it faced the threat of returning Austrian forces, which could also expect additional support from units mobilized in Hungary. Shortly afterwards, General Zajączek’s division of several thousand was beaten at Jedlińsk. Poniatowski’s offensive against the Austrians ended unsuccessfully, as a result of the exposure of one flank by Russian soldiers meant to defend it. On 19 June Sandomierz, previously captured by the Poles, capitulated due to exhausted supplies of ammunition and losses among the defenders. Prince Józef no longer had any illusions about Russian help. Despite this, he appealed several times to the Russian commanders to cooperate. To no effect – a Russian corps of more than 30,000 conducted a ‘bloodless war’ in Galicia. In accordance with received instructions, it evaded joint operations with the Polish army on any pretext, and scrupulously avoided battles with the Austrians. Wherever possible, the Russians occupied further regions of Galicia before Polish units got there. Soon Golitsyn and Archduke Ferdinand came to an understanding, according to which the Russians pledged to prevent the Polish provisional authorities operating in territories occupied by themselves.13 On 19 June, with the silent acquiescence of the Russian generals, Austrian units occupied Lwów, which had been abandoned by the remaining Polish forces and provisional Central Government. A few days later, Russian units appeared in the city. Following their entry – and this was the political reason for the operation – the Russians supported the re-established Austrian administration. An impasse ensued in military operations. Poniatowski and Archduke Ferdinand, both aware of the difficulty of their own positions and the risk of taking bold action, confined themselves to reacting to enemy advances or feigning aggressive actions. The Russians, however, were satisfied with occupying new territories in Eastern Galicia, which they had entered in the wake of the retreating Austrians. Events gathered momentum in early July, precipitated by the concentration of most forces around Kraków. This concentration was the result of Vienna’s belated realization that

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Russian occupation of ever greater swathes of Galicia was not necessarily temporary. Ferdinand’s retreat was also hastened by news of Napoleon’s decisive victory at Wagram on 5–6 July and the entirely real possibility of Polish troops joining units of the Grande Armée advancing from Moravia. The Austrian operations coincided with Poniatowski’s decision to take action on the left bank of the Vistula. Reinforced by Zajączek and Dąbrowski’s divisions, his units advanced in early July through Puławy, Radom and Kielce towards Kraków. Their march through areas already stripped of most enemy forces was swift. On the morning of 15 July, the vanguard of the Polish cavalry stood outside Kraków. The Austrian high command was concerned only to transfer the city to Russian control. They persuaded Poniatowski to agree to a short truce on the pretext of needing to draft a treaty to cover the withdrawal from Kraków. A few hours later, the first Russian unit quickly entered the city. Riding into the city at the head of his suite, Prince Józef encountered a squadron of Russian hussars blocking his path, through which, as he was to inform Napoleon, he had to ‘force a passage, jostling with my horse those who barred my way’.14 After this cavalier entry into the city, there followed a formal apportioning of billets to the Polish and Russian armies. Relations between them worked out variously. Generals and senior officers of both armies met at social receptions, exchanged civilities while playing cards, and discreetly sounded out the opinions of their interlocutors on the topic of Napoleon. Younger officers alternately drank with their Russian colleagues or tousled with them in duels. The occupation of Kraków ended large-scale military operations. The small war in Eastern Galicia continued, however, until the end of July. Colonel Piotr Strzyżewski, who in 1806 as a delegate of the Galician nobility had impressed Napoleon with his patriotic ardour, reached as far as the Dniester at the head of several thousand cavalry and infantry recapturing considerable territory from Austrian hands and forcing one of their generals to capitulate.15 Soon news of the truce and start of peace negotiations reached the quarters of Poniatowski and of Archduke Ferdinand. At the beginning of August, a delegation of the provisional Central Government, led by the most distinguished politician – in many people’s opinion – of the final years of Stanisław August’s rule, Ignacy Potocki, arrived in Vienna. The course taken by the initial audience recalled former meetings between Napoleon and representatives of the Prussian Partition’s elite. The delegation paid the necessary homage to Napoleon requesting at the same time the union of Galicia with the Duchy of Warsaw and also, according to their accounts, the restoration of Poland. In reply, they received general assurances of the emperor’s constant goodwill towards them and of the difficult political situation, in which France’s interests required it not to expose itself to conflict with Russia. Napoleon’s position was weaker on the threshold of negotiations than it had been at Tilsit two years earlier – the war in Spain was far from over, while the victory over Austria had been bought at a high price. The disappointment of the Polish delegates was mitigated by Napoleon’s suggested plan to annex parts of Galicia to the Duchy on condition that territorial compensation was found for Russia. During the ensuing weeks, the delegates served as experts advising on Galician matters. Their influence on the outcome of the negotiations should not be overestimated. However, the hypothesis that the dossiers compiled by them influenced

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the inclusion in the peace treaty of solutions more sympathetic to Polish aspirations would seem to be justified.16 On days when upper-class Kraków society was enjoying balls and festivities in honour of the commander-in-chief, few realized a serious game was going on behind the scenes. The signal of its beginning was the appearance among the splendid guests passing through Poniatowski’s residence, of Prince Eustachy Sanguszko. One of Poniatowski’s closest friends from his youth, then a Russian subject, Sanguszko had arrived directly from Golitsyn’s quarters in Tarnow, in order to discreetly gauge opinion among the Duchy of Warsaw’s elite about Alexander I’s plan for the restoration of Poland. In addition, the promise of huge grants of land was intended to inspire Poniatowski’s enthusiasm for the Russian proposal. The guarded account of the meeting in Sanguszko’s diary indicates that the friends’ conversation was not conducted in the friendliest of atmospheres. Apparently, Poniatowski even threatened him with internment.17 The Austrians also tried to tempt Poniatowski. After the defeat at Wagram, Francis I’s entourage began to discuss Metternich’s bold, though belated, plan to reverse the course of the war and minimalize its losses. He calculated that the Poles might be lured onto Austria’s side if an offer were made to restore the Kingdom of Poland from the Duchy lands and parts of Galicia. As in the case of Sanguszko’s mission, the way the plan was to be realized indicates the operational style of contemporary European elites. Prince Franz von Dietrichstein, like Sanguszko a friend from Poniatowski’s youth, was delegated to make contact with him. Already in August, Dietrichstein initiated a correspondence on the subject of Austrian civil servants held by the Poles. When the opportunity arose, he proposed a ‘friendly walk by the Vistula’ without obligations. Poniatowski must have had pleasant memories of Dietrichstein, since he agreed to the meeting without reservation. Dietrichstein wrote a detailed report of their meeting. In it he claimed Prince Józef admired Napoleon as a commander, but realized the emperor’s star could one day fade. Poniatowski also conjectured that along with the defeat or death of Napoleon, the Grand Empire, ‘that great pillar seeming to stretch to heaven, would most likely crumble to ruins, which would then serve God knows whom and in what way, to erect a new edifice’. Dietrichstein’s sounding him out on possible candidates for the throne of a restored Poland was not encouraging. Poniatowski declared that the Poles needed a foreign king and made no allusions to his own person: ‘I have the impression he isn’t thinking about the throne or the role of viceroy. … He’s thinking, as soon as things are over, of going back to Warsaw and his own estate in order to have a rest.’ Poniatowski dispelled Austrian delusions about winning over the Poles, claiming that at times when this might have been possible, Austria had failed to exploit the opportunity. Despite Dietrichstein’s insistence, a second meeting was not held. Poniatowski, realizing the true nature of these ‘friendly’ conversations, cut them short: ‘My dear Prince, I love you with all my heart, but since you are an illustrious Austrian and I good Pole, there are matters on which we cannot agree, still less talk about.’18 Both Austrian and Russian proposals were rejected. The former came too late, as well as from the defeated side in the recently concluded war. Meanwhile, Alexander I had no more to offer the Poles than did the Emperor of the French: a promise to create a Kingdom of Poland without guarantees could not compensate for the risk of

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rejecting Napoleon’s protectorate. Other considerations also complicated any decision to move against Napoleon – the honourable obligations mentioned by Poniatowski in his conversation with Dietrichstein. The peace treaty signed at Schönbrunn on 14 October proved decidedly advantageous to the Duchy of Warsaw. Its territory increased to 155,500 square kilometres, its population to 4.3 million. Part of Eastern Galicia liberated by the Poles during the final phase of the war was annexed by Russia as the so-called Tarnopol district. It was to be the reward for the war ‘effort’ of Golitsyn’s corps, but above all compensation to Alexander I for the expansion of the Duchy’s territory. Modest compensation, we should add, since the tsar had demanded substantially more Galician land. The incorporation of the new lands was preceded by disputes lasting for several weeks over the manner in which it should be implemented. Aristocratic circles, considerably more influential in Galicia than in the Duchy of Warsaw, were opposed to the introduction into Galicia of the Duchy’s Napoleonic constitution and the Napoleonic Code. One way of deferring it could have been a form of autonomy for Galicia, through preserving for a time the powers of the provisional Central Government  – an institution independent of the Council of State and subject directly to Frederick Augustus. The provisional Galician authorities were supported by former Jacobins, who had been advising Zamoyski for several months on organizational matters and disagreements with the military. The Jacobins reckoned they could strengthen in this way their own position on the country’s political stage. Instead, the Council of State declared itself in favour of the immediate annexation of Galicia and introduction of the political and legal structures binding in the Duchy. A solution was found, as usual, in Paris. After meeting with Napoleon, Frederick Augustus issued a decree announcing his assumption of power in Galicia; the provisional Central Government was dissolved and individual administrative and judicial institutions were brought under the control of the appropriate ministers of the Duchy. As a consequence of the annexation of Galicia, changes were made to the composition of the Council of State, to which new senior secretaries were introduced. The Chamber of Envoys was expanded by forty envoys and twenty-six commune representatives, while twelve new senators were also appointed.19 From the point of view of Napoleon’s struggle against Austria, the campaign of 1809 in the Duchy of Warsaw and Galicia was of secondary importance. The most significant events took place in Austria itself and in Bavaria. Here the largest concentrations of troops were in action. In early July, more than 460,000 soldiers from both armies were concentrated in the main theatre of military operations in Austria. By comparison, at the end of the campaign, Prince Józef had about 47,000 soldiers at his disposal in the regiments of the Duchy and in the Galician-French units. And yet in this peripheral theatre of war, events took place whose significance was to prove greater than the size of engaged forces might suggest. A victorious war crowned by an advantageous peace: this is not the only perspective to be considered when drawing up the balance sheet of the Galician campaign. From the perspective of high politics, it was a test for Napoleon of the real worth of his alliance with Russia. He did not immediately take full cognizance of the gloomy inferences. The course and outcome of the war also affected

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the mood of Poles. Two years after Tilsit, the Polish question had returned to high European politics – and largely thanks to the Poles themselves, who had succeeded not only in defending the Duchy but in extending its borders. It confirmed the sense of their embryonic state and of remaining at Napoleon’s side. The war of 1809 reinforced belief in their own powers: as many emphasized, it was the Poles’ first independent victory since the time of Jan III Sobieski. This boost to morale happened thanks to the army. At the beginning of the war, its soldiers were considered to be full of the right spirit but inexperienced. Following its conclusion, they were extolled as worthy successors to the victors of seventeenth-century wars. Recognition for the services rendered by the army was directly proportional to the distaste provoked by the attitude of the Council of State, which from the start of the war had kept warily to the sidelines of military operations. Its peregrinations from town to town away from the theatre of war, which appeared like running away, and refusal to transfer the location of its sessions closer to the army, did nothing to bolster the authority of ministers. Many people were also offended by the eagerness with which the Council of State insisted on Russian aid, thereby questioning its confidence in the Polish army. After Poniatowski’s incursion into Galicia, the Council of State more or less handed him the political initiative. As a result, the commander-in-chief took a series of decisions affecting the civil service and judiciary, even things that officially remained the responsibility of Frederick Augustus.20 The enormous authority he enjoyed following the victorious conclusion to the war and the significant scope he had gained for independent action during operations in Galicia meant that Prince Józef, who until then had rarely spoken up at council meetings, now emerged as one of the Duchy’s most important ministers. In the year 1809 began the legend of a leader who had once been accused – in the moment when he abandoned Warsaw – of selling the capital to the Austrians. A few months later, Poniatowski was the embodiment of national notions of honour and courage: ‘On valiant horse, a valiant rider, of unbending courage and splendidly honourable, with fine figure and black moustache, cap at an angle, he was the ideal Polish leader. If he’d cried on the brink of hell: Follow me, children! They would have jumped in after him,’ recalled one of his subordinates many years later.21 This image was formed in the spring of 1809. The infantry’s counter-attack on the causeway at Raszyn led by Prince Józef, armed with a soldier’s musket and nonchalantly smoking his pipe, became one of the most famous gestures of the Polish Napoleonic period. The year 1809 also introduced other heroes to Poles’ collective consciousness – not from the great yet remote past, not defeated heroes like Kościuszko, but contemporary ones and, more importantly, victorious ones. ‘You have recaptured the tombs of the Polish kings,’ enthused poet Ludwik Osiński, secretary to the Society of Friends of Science [Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk], referring to the vaults beneath Wawel Cathedral in Kraków where former Polish rulers were buried. Fresh heroes, whose deaths were the price of victory, were added to the national pantheon. Among them was squadron commander Berek Joselewicz, killed at Kock and embodying the assimilationist and emancipationist aspirations of sections of the Jewish community. The ultimate symbol of heroism and self-sacrifice, however, was Cyprian Godebski. Tributes to the colonel, who had once bewailed that in Poland ‘it was not the custom

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to remember services rendered’, arose after the Battle of Raszyn. Frederick Augustus granted his widow a pension.22 Poet, conspirator, republican and legionary, an officer who did not confine himself to simply mustering his soldiers but believed in the need to educate them as real citizens, he became for subsequent generations the incarnation of the modern national hero. Many figures and incidents of the 1809 campaign passed into national legend. Its memory became a source of nineteenth-century national pride – also a crucial element in the balance sheet of this war on the ‘periphery’.

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‘Sobieski’s Heirs’: The Polish Army of the Duchy of Warsaw

The ceremonial return of the army to Warsaw took place in December 1809. Poniatowski was in no hurry to get back to the capital. Offended by popular insults accusing him of treason when he had evacuated the army from Warsaw, he delayed his return and declined any tributes paid to him. The victory march through the cheering crowds was led by Dąbrowski. Soldiers entering the city were greeted by a triumphal arch erected by ‘grateful citizens’ in honour of the victorious army. One poet compared the ceremony to the triumphant entry of Jan III Sobieski following his victory at Vienna in 1683. This was no exception. The achievements of the Polish army in 1809 inspired pride and evoked memories of past glories. The army, known officially as the ‘Polish Army of the Duchy of Warsaw’, initially numbered in accordance with the fledgling state’s constitution 30,000 soldiers. In 1810, following the incorporation of the ‘Galician’ regiments, a decree of Frederick Augustus set its size at 60,000 men, many of whom were still fighting in Spain. A further increase occurred at the start of 1812. The number of soldiers in the Duchy’s army then stationed on its territory was estimated to be approximately 75,000.1 As in other European armies, the overwhelming majority served in the infantry. The basic organizational unit was the regiment consisting of two, and later three, battalions. The number of soldiers in a regiment varied between 1807 and 1812 from about 2,500 to 3,000 men. In peacetime it was usually several hundred fewer. In 1812, due to the increase in personnel across all seventeen existing regiments, the number of infantrymen rose to 55,000. Reconnoitring the terrain, providing defensive cover for its own army, pursuit, leading charges against enemy lines – these were the tasks of the cavalry. The cavalry regiments, consisting of three and from 1810 four squadrons, initially numbered a little over 1,000 but later about 800 troopers each. At the same time, the number of cavalry units was constantly expanding. At the beginning of 1809, 5,500 soldiers were serving in six cavalry regiments. In 1810 there were more than 12,000 serving in sixteen regiments. In contrast to other European armies, the army of the Duchy of Warsaw had almost exclusively light cavalry units: ten regiments of traditional Polish uhlans, three of chasseurs and two of hussars. An exception was the regiment of cuirassiers, which counted as heavy cavalry. The high cost of creating such units meant the cuirassier regiment had only 419 soldiers. The numerical predominance of light cavalry in the Duchy’s army reflected the lower costs involved in its formation, the experience of

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commanders, as well as the opinion of Napoleon himself, who valued its suitability for operations conducted in Central and East European terrains. For these reasons, the percentage of cavalrymen serving in the Duchy’s army was higher than in many other contemporary European armies. The Polish artillery was more modest. Commanders were constantly grappling with an insufficient number of guns and their poor technical condition, difficulties in the supply of ammunition, and inadequately trained officers. During the initial organizational stages of the Polish army, invaluable expertise was provided by men who had begun their military service in the artillery of the former Commonwealth. On Napoleon’s orders, experienced French instructors were sent to assist the Poles. Expansion of the artillery was hampered by lack of money and appropriate infrastructure. Home manufacture could guarantee only the repair of damaged artillery pieces. Arming the Polish artillery therefore depended entirely on Napoleon, who demanded money in return for any hardware supplied. At the beginning of 1809, the Duchy’s army had at its disposal 250 cannon requisitioned from Prussian arsenals, including 111 field guns and fifty-four grenade launchers. This ensured a significant, but certainly not annihilating, firepower. The number of the Duchy’s artillery pieces increased, however, with time. In 1809, thanks to war trophies, it reached 306 guns. A separate type of weaponry was horse artillery, whose function was to combine firepower with swift action. This form of weapon, previously unknown in the Polish army, was developed thanks to the initiative of two enthusiastic but also wealthy young men. The first company of horse artillery was raised at his own expense by Włodzimierz Potocki, son of Stanisław Szczęsny Potocki, leader of the pro-Russian Confederacy of Targowica (1792), regarded by patriots as a traitor. His decision was no doubt motivated by a desire to restore the Potockis’ good name. A second battery was formed by Roman Sołtyk, graduate of the École Politechnique in Paris. Before the outbreak of war in 1809, the horse artillery squadron had at its disposal eight guns and two grenade launchers. In 1810 the squadron expanded into a regiment with twenty-four guns. Potocki was not able to fully enjoy the success of his initiative. As a landowner in the Russian Partition, he submitted on Poniatowski’s advice to Alexander I’s instruction ordering his subjects to resign from service in the Polish army, or risk confiscation of their property. Potocki’s withdrawal was accompanied by the promise to recall him to his former post, if war were declared on Russia. The young colonel did not live to see a return to the ranks. He died a few weeks before the outbreak of war in 1812. A military administration consisting of several hundred officials, large in comparison to Polish pre-partition tradition, oversaw the functioning of an army constantly expanding. Apart from inspectors responsible for conscription and officials from the Directory of Supply, a military health service also functioned. As in other contemporary European armies, the quality of soldiers’ healthcare left much to be desired. Although poorly developed in relation to needs, it nevertheless gave soldiers, most of whom came from peasant families, the possibility of free treatment by qualified doctors. They would not have enjoyed such a luxury in civilian life. Each regiment had several doctors in charge of medical care. To cater to soldiers’ pastoral needs and the building of morale, a priest was likewise attached to each regiment.2

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The size of the army was increased, as it had been under the Commonwealth and during the 1806–7 war, by selecting one recruit per defined number of households. From 1810 this system was gradually replaced, in accordance with the French model, by universal conscription of men between the ages of twenty and twenty-eight, all of whom were registered on muster rolls of men obliged to render military service for six years. On the basis of royal decrees designating the number of recruits, they were then picked by drawing lots. Those selected in this way were given the option of providing a substitute. Government officials, teachers, clergy, married men, only sons, Mennonites and Jews, as well as foreigners who had settled in the Duchy, were exempt from military service. The expanding army bled society of a large percentage of healthy young men. Taking together the size of further rounds of conscription and enlistment of volunteers to the Polish army itself as well as to Polish units in Napoleon’s service in the years 1806–13, Robert Bielecki concluded that a total of 180,850 men passed through the ranks. This would seem to be an overestimate. It expresses more the zeal of the military administration than the actual process of conscription. More recent research suggests this estimate overstates the real figure by some 20,000.3 Overall, some 4.2 per cent of a population of 4,334,000 may have been mobilized by the Duchy of Warsaw within its post-1809 borders. This was an enormous proportion, especially when compared to the former Commonwealth, a state substantially larger with a much bigger population, for which the raising of an army of 100,000 was an unattainable dream. During the 1831 November Uprising, about 2.8 per cent of the country’s population found itself in the ranks of the Polish army. Measured according to the scale of mobilization, the war effort of the Duchy of Warsaw was greater than that of the Kingdom of Italy, where recruitment during the years 1802–14 embraced about 2.2 per cent of the population. It would have slightly exceeded the scale of mobilization in Westphalia, through whose armed forces about 100,000 men passed in the years 1808–13, that is, 3.8 per cent of the entire population. It is worth noting, however, that the number of Frenchmen who passed through the ranks of Napoleon’s army between 1800 and 1815 is reckoned to be 7 per cent. A quite specific record in short-term war efforts in this period was set by Prussia, which in 1813 called to arms as much as 6 per cent of its population (including admittedly irregular territorials or Landswehr).4 It seems therefore that conscription in the Duchy, although very high, did not exceed its capabilities. The state possessed demographic resources, whose mobilization, however, required money, time and efficient organization. The Treasury’s empty coffers hampered further expansion of the army’s manpower. There was no money for uniforms, weapons, equipment and soldiers’ food. Even in September 1812, the military authorities were unperturbed by news of the additional conscription of 17,000 recruits ordered by the king: ‘It’s only a dream, however. We do not lack men, but funds to maintain them,’ claimed Deputy Minister of War General Józef Wielhorski in a letter to Secretary of State Maret. The upkeep of an army of 60,000 already exceeded, in the opinion of many contemporaries, the state’s financial capabilities and infrastructure. A National Guard, modelled on French lines, was to supplement the regular armed forces. Those called to serve were above all landowners, urban property owners, officials, artists and wealthy peasants. Uniformed at their own cost, they were obliged

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to perform exercises and services aimed at ensuring the security of villages or towns. In time of war, the National Guard was to take over some of the tasks of the army. Its manpower was to be augmented by mobile guards composed of retainers, servants, labourers, and so on, who could be used away from their place of residence. The guardsmen remained under the authority of prefects and sub-prefects. Their hostility towards regular exercises and lack of strict discipline made them the object of frequent jibes: ‘The majority even hurried to the woods … where their wives, mothers, sisters, lovers, children, who had escorted them out of the city, were waiting for them … loaded with bundles, cushions, food and various beverages, and after them came the wagons of the merchants recruited as officers, piled high with wine, porter, pickles etc, of which they certainly sold more in that camp than they could in Warsaw’ – this is how the battle-readiness of the capital’s guardsmen protecting the city on the day of the Battle of Raszyn was described by their commander, Count Józef Krasiński.5 The largely improvised nature of the Polish army’s organization in 1806–7 and 1809 as well as the difficult financial situation meant that it was equipped with arms from a variety of sources. The artillery had at its disposal mostly Prussian and French guns, and after 1809 also Austrian. The infantry was armed with Prussian and French rifles of various models. Only in 1812 was the Polish army equipped with firearms of almost exclusively French production. There were few factories in the Duchy which could be used to manufacture weapons. In response to the requirements of the army, production mildly increased after the annexation of Galicia, where arms manufacturers and producers of other military hardware were located. These supplied a small number of rifles and pistols. Only factories producing gunpowder, bullets and grapeshot significantly satisfied army needs. Better results were achieved in the manufacture of sabres and bayonets.6 The inadequate supply of arms and their often poor technical condition were not the only problems facing the army. The needs of the military and defence indeed made up the state’s overwhelming expenditure (in 1810 this amounted to 40 of its 60 million zlotys), but in relation to the scale of requirements, it was insufficient. Soldiers and officers complained about the poor state of uniforms and equipment, or simply their lack. Infantry Officer Antoni Białkowski records how he mustered ‘a barefoot platoon’, while soldiers mounting guard often had to borrow boots from their colleagues. As is often the case, things were better in certain regiments – above all those stationed in Warsaw, where service was more prestigious and where the vigilant eye of Stanisław Fiszer, chief of the general staff and inspector of infantry, kept watch over everything. Białkowski, whom luck had posted to provincial garrisons, described with approval Fiszer’s inspection of his regiment. ‘In a closed room with only the soldiers present’, Fiszer questioned them about payment of their wages and treatment by superiors, and eventually ‘ordered them … to take off their kit-bags and open them, whereupon he carefully examined their underwear, footwear, clothes…’. The army’s permanent financial difficulties meant, however, that the majority of units could only envy the ‘favoured’ units in Warsaw, which ‘received new uniforms and greatcoats all the time, while used ones were dispatched to regiments stationed in the provinces’. In extreme, though certainly not uncommon situations, lack of uniforms made training impossible and also encouraged desertion – in 1810 the commander of an artillery company

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stationed in Kraków was forced to keep thirty recruits incorporated into his unit ‘under guard in their barracks until they received their uniforms’.7 Uniforms were in short supply. Many observers, however, among them Napoleon’s resident in Warsaw, claimed not without reason that they were too fashionable and expensive. The ambition of private founders of regiments as well as pride in an army embodying the idea of restored sovereignty could not allow soldiers to be attired in cheap practical uniforms, unattractive and free of adornments. The appearance of many uniforms would be a source of fascination to some of today’s more eccentric fashion designers.8 The fantasy of regimental founders, their commanders and ladyloves found ample scope for show in details that caught the eye: facing colours, trouser stripes, braiding, cockades. The ambition of officers themselves also played a role: ‘Increasing numbers of wealthy young men were appointed as officers,’ one recalled. ‘ Therefore, though deprived of pay for several months, they lavished money not only on regular uniforms but also on fanciful dress uniforms, which proliferated in every cavalry unit.’ Becoming an officer involved long hours of fitting by a tailor. As a result, the appearance of the marching units may have made a favourable impression on the ladies, but it often annoyed genuine disciplinarians. Feliks Przyszychowski, commander of the 9th regiment of uhlans, reared in the tough school of the legions, expressed irritation at his subordinates’ fanciful outfits in the following order: ‘ These various costumes, which you’ve had sewn for yourselves  … can have their place only in your companies, squadrons or when on the march. When on staff duties, officers must appear only in regulation dress.’ The average soldier, meanwhile, was more occupied with his total lack of a uniform or with its far from excellent condition.9 Food supplies were also inadequate. In accordance with the regulations, a soldier’s daily ration, costing about sixteen groshies, consisted of two pounds (approximately one kilogram) of bread, 0.5 pounds of meat and 0.5 pounds of vegetables – peas, broad beans or potatoes, a little salt and about 100 grams of vodka. Rations were reduced in 1811, but in the eyes of many soldiers, most of whom came from the countryside and were accustomed to a worse diet, they still passed as decent. In everyday practice, provisions must have been deficient, thus explaining mentions in various sources of food robberies perpetrated by soldiers, or ingenious methods of swindling it out of civilians. Soldiers could supplement meagre rations by purchasing food from their wages. Wages were usually paid late, sometimes very late: ‘We hadn’t seen a groshie for several months; the daily food we received was our only means of support’, Białkowski recalled. Given this kind of situation, soldiers’ dissatisfaction expressed itself in extreme cases in the refusal to perform military duties. Acts of open revolt occurred in Białkowski’s regiment and in Polish regiments stationed in Danzig. In both cases military discipline was not entirely broken, since the soldiers were quickly dissuaded by their officers by threats of punishment or references to the regiment’s honour, which no one was permitted to bring into disrepute through insubordination. The efforts of commanders were no antidote, however, to the crisis in the system for financing the army. Army finances and poor living standards appeared frequently in Poniatowski’s correspondence at the time.10 Efficient functioning of the army was also not helped by the shortage of suitable barracks, which the authorities tried to

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relieve by introducing the obligation, burdensome for civilians, of quartering soldiers in private homes. There were likewise insufficient buildings for hospitals, which were often housed in convents. The Duchy was therefore to be defended, and its borders extended, by an army whose everyday functioning was hampered by financial problems, lack of equipment and inadequate infrastructure. These deficiencies were compounded by the increased numbers of soldiers. Many were inexperienced recruits who coped with the difficulties of service less easily than hardened veterans. This was already evident in 1807. The attitude of Polish soldiers sometimes irritated French commanders accustomed to better trained units. Some, like the impulsive Marshal Lefebvre, expressed such sharp criticism of his Polish subordinates that Napoleon felt it necessary to instruct him not to discourage the Poles with his ‘sarcasm and vulgarisms’ but convince them of their own worth. With time, however, the future Duke of Danzig learnt to appreciate the Polish soldiers’ will to fight, especially when compared to soldiers from Baden or Saxony who, in his opinion, went into battle like automatons and were incapable of fighting when hungry.11 The war of 1807 proved that the effectiveness of the inexperienced army and its fighting capability depended on the qualifications of the officer cadre, on its concern for subordinates, commitment to the process of training soldiers and ability to build morale. The role of officers was all the greater since the Duchy’s army lacked experienced non-commissioned officers, upon whom the immediate role of instructing the young soldiers fell. In 1812 the officer cadre numbered 1,882 men.12 Officers were distinguished from ordinary soldiers at first glance thanks to the more striking elements of officers’ uniforms: epaulettes embroidered in gold or silver, embroidery on collars and facings, sashes or aiguillettes. Officers were also entitled to higher pay. Although payment was similarly delayed, in the case of a second lieutenant, his annual wage was about ten times higher than that of a private soldier. An officer’s daily portion of food was oneand-a-half to two times greater than the ordinary soldier’s. Many officers could also lend variety to the military menu thanks to money sent from home. Money did not guarantee creature comforts, but the material situation of officers was considerably better than that with which rank-and-file soldiers had to be content. There were important differences, however, within the officer cadre. Young second lieutenants were distanced from higher officers due to their range of responsibilities, prestige as well as level of pay and privileges. The annual salary of a second lieutenant, amounting to 1,820 zlotys, seemed modest in comparison to the more than 9,000 zlotys paid to a colonel. The most thankless duties also fell on lower-ranking officers: ‘In the morning, as soon as the trumpet sounded the reveille, one had to get up and rush through a blizzard or wade through mud up to one’s ankles, to the platoon’s stable, because the colonel demanded an officer be present while the horses were being brushed down. Once the horses had been cleaned and given fodder, the second lieutenant was allowed to stay in his quarters until ten o’clock,’ recalled Franciszek Gajewski. At the top of the military hierarchy were the generals. Accompanied by the usual crowd of adjutants and orderlies, in uniforms embroidered with their insignia of office, they were the envy or wonderment of subordinates and the attraction of the

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salons. A general’s pay reached the sky-high level, unimaginable to a lieutenant, of 21,000 to 37,000 zlotys a year.13 Not everyone was destined to wear a general’s uniform, but the patriotic enthusiasm aroused in many milieus after 1806, the prestige of wearing a Polish uniform, and eventually the pay, sufficiently high to encourage many of the less wealthy to join up, meant there was no lack of candidates for officer ranks. On the contrary, there were even too many of them; hence officers often appeared in regiments surplus to requirements, carrying out duties in exchange for food and lodgings. The losses suffered by Polish archives during the Second World War have prevented systematic research into the mechanisms driving officers’ careers in the Duchy’s army. However, on the basis of specific case studies that rely on surviving source materials, it is possible to draw a few conclusions.14 The officer cadre came from several social milieus. Apart from veterans of the legions or former officers from the wars of 1792 and 1794, there were also officers who had seen service in the armies of the partitioning powers. Former legionaries occupied a special position in the officer cadre; to them fell the role of instructors, experts and mentors of their less experienced colleagues. ‘Legionaries have the right to priority when it comes to promotion,’ Prince Józef instructed General Zajączek. The competence of combatants from the partitioning armies was also highly valued, proof of which was the commander-inchief ’s order that one-third of all vacant lower officer positions should be reserved for Poles who had formerly served in the Prussian army. After the war of 1809, many former officers of the Austrian army also appeared in the Polish army. Their presence in the ranks aroused no particular controversy. An earlier career in the army of one of the partitioning powers was generally recognized as a life necessity, the result of the complicated post-partition reality, but at the same time as schooling in the art of war. This view was not unjustified: fourteen generals of the Polish army at the time of the November Uprising of 1830–1 had had experience before 1807 in Austrian, Prussian or Russian uniform.15 The most numerous group of officers were inexperienced volunteers. A special position among them belonged to representatives of the wealthy szlachta or aristocracy, whose munificence facilitated the formation of new regiments in 1806 and 1809. Young men, such as Antoni Paweł Sułkowski, Włodzimierz Potocki, Roman Sołtyk, Stanisław Małachowski, Konstanty Czartoryski and others, in putting on colonels’ uniforms, initially required the help of majors with long-standing service. A special case was Dominik Radziwiłł. This 24-year-old inheritor of an enormous estate, known previously for his love of wild living, turned to Poniatowski in 1810 requesting to be entrusted with the command of an uhlan regiment. The commander-in-chief reacted with scepticism. Radziwiłł had no military experience and was also a Russian subject. His property was therefore exposed to being requisitioned. The young aristocrat’s ardour as well as the constant lack of money for meeting the army’s needs ultimately prevailed. Radziwiłł committed to giving a donation of more than 200,000 zlotys to the army and was transformed into a colonel of the 8th regiment of uhlans. ‘In his dreams there was no greater happiness than to enter Wilno at the head of his uhlans,’ recalled the French resident Bignon. ‘That part of his noble ambition was fulfilled.’ His battle route with his uhlans was to lead through Ostrovno, where he demonstrated his

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courage, to Moscow and then back westward again with the retreating remnants of the Grande Armée. At the end of the campaign, Radziwiłł, whose palace at Nieśwież in the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania had been sacked in revenge by the Russian army, refused an amnesty and remained at Napoleon’s side as an officer in the Chevaulégers of the Guard. He survived his first commander, Prince Józef, by less than a month. In November 1813 he died of a wound sustained at the Battle of Hanau.16 The majority of volunteers, however, began their service as privates or noncommissioned officers. Many advanced after several months’ service to the lowest officer ranks. This was not particularly difficult in the case of educated young men from well-known families. Henryk Dembiński was promoted a few months after joining the army to the rank of corporal, when the commander of the regiment summoned ‘me and showed me a letter from my mother appealing to him to dismiss me. My mother wrote to him because she could not understand, knowing my keenness and education received in Vienna, why I had not become an officer, and, as she needed help with our business affairs, wished me to returned home.’ If the 5th regiment of chasseurs had been commanded by a rigorous veteran of the legions who still retained traces of republican hostility towards aristocrats, the teenage corporal would no doubt have been ridiculed and sent back to his mother. At the head of the regiment, however, stood its founder Count Kazimierz Turno, who took Countess Dembińska’s complaint entirely seriously. Stating with regret that promotion was temporarily impossible due to a surfeit of officers, he proposed to Dembiński the position of adjutant-cum-non-commissioned officer, which gave him the ‘right to spend time with other officers’ as well as to swift promotion. After one year’s service, Dembiński was able to undergo initial fittings for his officer’s uniform. Among the young officers, there were also those who would have regarded him as a deserving veteran. One of these was Aleksander Fredro, who, a day after he had conversed ‘beautifully but not for long’ with Prince Józef, received the rank of second lieutenant, ‘because during the formation of the new regiments, the lack of officers meant that even inexperienced men had to be appointed’.17 While recognizing the aptness of this observation, let us add that Fredro’s career was by no means hindered by the fact that he was introduced to the commander-in-chief by his brother – a captain and darling of the Warsaw salons. Less well-educated or less well-connected volunteers had to wait several years for promotion. The majority came from the lesser nobility. Burghers could expect to enjoy promotion as officers less frequently. During this period, increasing numbers of townsmen appeared in the officer corps of many European armies. In Poland, full access to officer ranks was facilitated by the Four Years Sejm. Their careers as officers were also favoured by the development of the army at the time of Kościuszko’s insurrection. The lack of sources makes an accurate assessment of the percentage of townsmen serving in the officer cadre of the Duchy’s army impossible. One indication might be a comparison with the Polish legions. In Polish units formed in Italy and on the Danube, which upheld the revolutionary principle of equality, townsmen made up about 15 per cent of the officer cadre. In the Polish army after 1806, the percentage was definitely lower. There was no mood of republican radicalism in the Duchy’s army favouring the promotion to officer ranks of non-nobles. The small elite of townsmen, from which candidates might emerge, was not in a position to compete with the numerous szlachta, traditionally

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associated with military service for generations. The promotion of townsmen up the military hierarchy was also blocked by the continued functioning of what remained of the noble clientele system: a wealthy nobleman forming his own unit would propose his neighbours’ sons for the higher officer positions, while offering lower officer or non-commissioned positions to acquaintances from the lesser nobility. Given these circumstances, the greatest opportunities open to young townsmen who could read and write were in the civil service. The lowest possible number of townsmen serving as officers in the Duchy’s army can be estimated with reference to the Polish regiment of Cheveaulégers of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard. This regiment was formed in Warsaw in 1807 in a social context similar to that in which other Polish units arose at the time. It was to be an elite regiment. Service was open exclusively to ‘property owners and sons of property owners’. Townsmen made up barely 4 per cent of the officer cadre. Criteria for enlistment and promotion as officers restricted their opportunities for career advancement – but were these any stricter than in other cavalry regiments funded by young aristocrats? Officers with urban background were more frequently encountered in infantry or artillery regiments, where service conformed less to noble traditions or demanded more accomplished skills, thus providing greater opportunities to ambitious, welleducated non-nobles wishing to pursue an officer’s career. There were definitely also a few peasants in the officer cadre. They were not, however, an appreciable group. Even earlier, in the legions, they made up only about 1 per cent of officers.18 Despite the unofficial barriers resulting from persisting class prejudices or mechanisms favouring the promotion of officers from noble backgrounds, several officers from town backgrounds achieved high office in the course of their service. Although promotion to general must have been even more difficult, two did succeed. The first was former legionary Maurycy Hauke, from 1809 commander of the Zamość fortress. When in November 1813 he and his staff capitulated after nine months of stubborn resistance, he was greeted in Warsaw as a hero. The second was Józef Rautenstrauch, deputy to the chief of the general staff, a man with ‘great bureaucratic abilities’. The careers of both foreshadowed the beginning of social change in the officer cadre and corps of generals: during the 1830–1 November Uprising, already 18 per cent of generals in the Polish army were townsmen. The increasing percentage of townsmen among officers and generals was one indication of the advancing professionalization of the Polish army. Another was the number of former legionaries, usually from the impoverished szlachta, who progressed to the higher officer ranks including that of general – about 50 per cent of generals in the years 1806–14 had a legionary past. The need to improvise during the enlargement of the army in 1806–9 meant that among colonels and generals, there was still a sizeable group of men with little previous experience who achieved the rank of general after approximately three years’ service. The future belonged, however, not to twenty- to thirty-year-old generals from aristocratic circles or wealthy szlachta, but to those who had worked their way up the career ladder over many years through the various officer ranks. After 1815 some senior officers from landowning or aristocratic backgrounds, tired of fighting or hostile to the Russian models introduced into the Polish army by Grand Duke Constantine, would quit the service. Their places would be taken by

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soldiers of lesser noble or urban origin, who treated army service not only as their patriotic duty but also as a profession.19 There is no doubt that during the time of the Duchy’s existence, thousands of volunteers were attracted to the expanding army out of patriotic feeling. In the case of young men, other types of motivation, even if it was just the desire to make a mark or win glory, came into play. It is hard to separate patriotism from youthful dreams of heroism and fascination with the personality of Napoleon. In the era of Austerlitz and Jena, paradigms of honour and glory were created on the battlefield, while the careers of the emperor and his generals provided ready models to imitate. Let us recall the example of Prince Sułkowski, who in 1808, marching with his regiment to Spain, wrote to his recently wedded wife: ‘This is a war in which there will be thousands of laurels. I am counting on some falling on me.’ Officers hailed as avengers and liberators from foreign rule occupied a special place in women’s hearts. A particular kind of pressure was exerted on young men to join the ranks. Those who shirked their patriotic duty had to reckon with disagreeable social consequences: as one volunteer of 1809 recalled, young men appearing at balls in civilian dress had little chance of success, ‘because none of the young ladies wanted to dance with them’.20 Army service also promised a degree of moral freedom, liberation from conventions binding in family and social life. During his initial encounter with officers of the Duchy’s army, the teenage Fredro was amazed at their ‘contempt for any barrier in their behaviour or speech’. Contact with the army lifestyle, characterized by a particular combination of nonchalance and cynicism, came as an unpleasant shock to some. Eighteen-year-old Kazimierz Brodziński, applying for service along with his friend, was received by an officer not much older than himself, who ‘stared at us half smiling, half in pity, which considerably dampened our enthusiasm. He ended by asking whether we knew how to drink vodka, pull a Jew by the beard, and screw a woman.’ The joke which so offended the young volunteer fell from the lips of an officer-poet, otherwise known to be a sensitive exponent of sentimental verse.21 Apart from the mirage of glory and feeling of fulfilling one’s patriotic duty, military service also tempted many with the possibility of social advancement, or at least of functioning in an environment where social and financial barriers played a less significant role than in civilian life. The Polish army, based on new, Napoleonic principles, adopted many of the patterns of the French army. The military hierarchy and resulting distance between a commander and his subordinates were to depend on respect and recognition for his personal courage and competence. The experience of officers from wealthy families serving under commanders of urban or petty szlachta background was undoubtedly conducive to breaking down class and financial differences. A similar role was played by the types of social life enjoyed among the officer cadre, some of which were of a distinctly masculine kind. Shared military service created unique conditions in which commanders from well-known families took part in the unsophisticated amusements of their subordinates, while socially inferior officers were regularly admitted to the tables of aristocratic colonels. The prospect of access to another social milieu must have seemed especially attractive to men of Jewish origin, motivated not only by patriotism but also by a desire to integrate with their Polish surroundings. Traditions of Jewish volunteer service in the

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Polish army stretched back to the time of the Kościuszko Insurrection. Approximately twelve to fifteen Jews passed through the officer cadre of the legions. Some of them later reappeared in the army of the Duchy. The most famous was Berek Joselewicz, who fell at the Battle of Kock in 1809 as captain of chasseurs. About twenty further Jews followed in his footsteps. The career path chosen by them was not always easy. No one questioned the right of Jews to an officer’s epaulettes. Since Jews were relieved of military service, however, on the strength of a decree issued by the king in exchange for paying a special tax, the presence of Jewish volunteers in the Polish army must have been seen as an unusual phenomenon, even by observers who wished them well. A sign of this may be found in the diary of an officer who, remembering a Jewish colleague with sympathy, felt it appropriate to emphasize that ‘he was a good and courteous man, who spoke with great deliberation’. The example of serving officers of Jewish origin certainly helped the integration of Jews into Polish society and the breaking down of mutual prejudices. The heroic death of Berek Joselewicz was honoured by the Society of Friends of Science. In the eyes of many contemporaries and their descendants, Joselewicz became a symbol of potential cooperation in the common strivings of Poles and Jews. In 1809 such cooperation seemed far off. Kock was associated at the time not only with the hero’s death, but also with the robbery of wounded soldiers after the battle by poor Jewish inhabitants from the nearby town. Disinclined to repressive measures, Poniatowski punished them by inflicting a contribution ‘for the benefit of the wounded soldiers’. With the passing of time, however, the example of Berek Joselewicz acquired greater resonance. During the November Uprising, there were already over a thousand Jewish volunteers serving in the National Guard.22 To those who saw the soldiers of the Duchy’s army as liberators of the still divided political state, their battle worthiness was of crucial importance. Polish veterans of the legions and French instructors of the Grande Armée took charge of officer training as well as the skills of rank-and-file soldiers. Such measures were supported by modern principles of military organization and combat based on French models. The introduction of compatible operational ‘procedures’ – in today’s military terminology – was also important because of the frequent participation of fighting units of different nationalities in the Napoleonic armies. The Artillery and Engineers School [Szkoła Artylerii i Inżynierów] was to supply artillerymen qualified in so-called ‘scientific weaponry’ where the lack of qualified men was especially apparent. The effects of educating the officer cadre did not entirely satisfy the commanders of the army, in whose ranks a significant group – about 40 per cent in 1812 – were inexperienced recruits. In the case of volunteers, their adjustment to the rules governing modern army service was hindered by a mentality harking back to the noble levée en masse [pospolite ruszenie]. The behaviour of one uhlan, outraged at the orders he had received and declaring he had joined the army ‘to defend the fatherland, not to take part in patrols’, was not an isolated case. There was a constant shortage of officers with longer practical experience. Many joined up in periods of patriotic mobilization accompanying wars, only to resign from service once peace had been signed, feeling they had fulfilled their patriotic duty. Their places were taken by new officers who had gained essential experience only recently. The consequences must have been significant, since attention was drawn to them in the report of a deputation appointed

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by the king in 1810 to improve the state administration: ‘The frequent replacement of officers is detrimental to the army. A soldier constantly subordinated to a different officer cannot develop trust in him – that genuinely filial attachment which creates a single family almost out of a whole regiment and renders it all the more terrifying to the enemy.’23 Given the insufficient number of officers initiated into the arcana of service, the desire to speed up training tempted commanders to resort to old methods. Already during the campaign of 1807, at Poniatowski’s suggestion, the pre-partition military code permitting corporal punishment was reintroduced. The prospect of whips swishing over the parade ground provoked a sharp protest from General Dąbrowski. Referring to examples where the French authorities attempted to boost morale ‘not with sordid punishments but with rewards’, he threatened to resign if a law injurious to soldiers’ dignity were introduced. Such methods of maintaining discipline must have been offensive to former legionary officers – in 1809, General Hauke, welcoming into the Polish army Poles who had previously been incorporated into the Austrian army by force, declared: ‘The shameful stick and contempt were the only rewards you had from the Austrians. … No one who oppresses you from now on will go unpunished, no one will bully you.’ Former procedures were replaced by regulations binding in the French army. For crimes and other offences, the death penalty or imprisonment was stipulated – sanctions aimed at soldiers’ honour, or disciplinary sanctions, not degrading forms of corporal punishment. Despite this, several commanders unofficially recommended corporal punishment, regarding it as milder than the sanctions laid down by the French military code, which although respectful of soldiers’ dignity were extremely severe. Belief in the limited appropriateness of French models to Polish circumstances also inclined Prince Józef to recommend that instead of receiving the death penalty or a prison sentence, deserters should be flogged, since the land was short of prison accommodation, while ‘men punished in this way often become good and loyal soldiers’.24 Desertion was a concern already in 1807. It was a common feature of many European armies at the time. In France from 1810, the percentage of deserters or those refusing to take up service reached 10 per cent of conscripts.25 In the army of the Duchy, the percentage was similar. In 1808 and 1809 about 14 per cent abandoned the ranks. The high point for desertion came in 1811 and 1812. A few months before the start of the 1812 campaign, Prince Józef informed Napoleon that 25 per cent of recruits had deserted already on the way to join their regiments. Desertion was not checked by the announcement of several amnesties. The threat of penalties for concealing deserters likewise made no difference. It seems the administration was not especially committed to pursuing deserters, and turned a blind eye to underhand methods of concealment. Reducing desertion was hampered by the fact that many conscripts came from the poorest levels of society and did not identify with the aims imposed on the army by the revived patriotic ambitions of urban and noble elites. Among the recruits, there were also elements that no doubt found military discipline hard to bear. The situation was often exacerbated by inexperienced officers, who in relations with soldiers fell back on the only model they understood for dealing with subordinates: noble paternalism towards peasants. It depended on the individual officer as to whether this involved

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more ‘fatherly’ concern or more brutal enforcement of obedience. The state’s financial crisis, affecting living conditions in the army and even the late delivery of uniforms, also had an enormous influence on the scale of desertion. Inability to provide new recruits with uniforms, according to many commanders, prompted increased desertion.26 Hence, it was not the firing squad, prison or the stick that was to be the main means of strengthening morale and discipline. The attitude of the army in both war and peace sprang from complex motivations. Attempts to draw up a typology may be found in research into the French revolutionary army. ‘Initial motives’ can be identified accompanying a recruit’s first phase of army service. At this stage, slogans promulgated by state propaganda had an important influence, as did views prevailing in a volunteer or recruit’s immediate environment. Their effect was then reinforced by ‘sustaining motives’ which appeared once army service had commenced. These developed on the basis of relationships between soldiers formed during the course of their training. If a regiment functioned harmoniously as a community, it became for soldiers a substitute for the family. Such cohesion strengthened bonds between colleagues, loyalty towards comrades and commanders, as well as belief and pride in the exceptional worth of one’s own unit. All these things affected soldiers’ attitude on the battlefield.27 The experiences of revolutionary France and the Kościuszko Insurrection had shown how patriotic slogans could impress soldiers’ feelings. Commanders in the Duchy tried to develop soldiers’ morale using similar methods. Soldiers’ identification with the army and its goals were reinforced by the principle of equality adopted from France, which opened up the possibility of advancement based on competence and courage. In appeals and orders of the commander-in-chief or individual commanders, as well as in occasional speeches delivered during ceremonies, the theme of the soldierdefender and soldier-liberator was often repeated. A soldier’s morale was to be built by presenting the army not only as an armed force called to realize national aims, but as a fraternal community of free, equal and courageous men. ‘We are all brothers among ourselves’ – General Hauke declared in the above-mentioned speech to former Austrian soldiers – ‘and we renounce only cowards and scoundrels’. The path to a fine career might open before any member of this fraternity who distinguished himself through courage and determination: ‘You may achieve … through devotion to the fatherland, the honours and benefits that fate has granted to many of your older brothers, myself included.’ Uttered by a general of commoner origin, such words were convincing. An elite group, into which rank-and-file soldiers might also be initiated, were the companions of the military cross Virtuti Militari. A gesture strengthening ordinary soldiers’ emotional ties with the army was admittance to the commission selecting candidates for decoration. Men honoured in this way gained enormous prestige, and could expect at the same time more quantifiable advantages such as increased pay or, should they commit an offence, the privilege of having their case heard by a court composed of their military peers. The participation of non-commissioned officers on housekeeping committees overseeing the administrative and economic aspects of a regiment’s functioning and also advising on applications for advancement likewise reduced the gulf separating officers from men, as well as consolidated ties with their own regiment. In addition, festivities and ceremonial occasions, when decorated soldiers received their honours, also developed a sense of pride in their uniform.

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A ball to celebrate Prince Józef ’s name-day in 1811 opened with a polonaise led by the beautiful Countess Zamoyska leaning on the arm of a moustachioed grenadier, while the ‘most venerable ladies’ invited the soldiers to dance. The training of privates and non-commissioned officers featured punishments unforeseen by the penal code, but which affected soldiers’ self-esteem. These included the appearance of the penalized sub-unit in uniforms worn inside out, or the order to carry rifles butt-end up.28 Attempts to boost soldiers’ morale by inculcating notions of the army’s mission or pride in belonging to a community of courageous men were not always effective, but nevertheless made sense. Research into desertion in the years 1810–12 suggests it was not a major problem in the relatively well-equipped cavalry regiments formed in Galicia, which consisted of numerous volunteers well aware of the goals of their service. In the infantry, however, there were three times fewer deserters from ‘old’ regiments, formed before the war of 1809, than from more recently formed ones.29 It was no doubt easier to maintain good personal contacts between officers and subordinates in units that had been functioning for a long time with a similar composition, which in turn was conducive to consolidating soldiers’ ties with their regiment. The restored Polish army enjoyed enormous prestige among compatriots. This was the result above all of the expectations invested in it. In speeches delivered on ceremonial occasions, or in occasional poetry, the army was represented as the inheritor of the tradition and glory of victorious rulers and commanders. A cult of heroes, who gave their lives for the fatherland, was propagated. Exposition of the special role of the army in society, typical of countries that found themselves within Napoleon’s orbit, also contributed to the high standing of the military in public opinion. This was underlined by official ceremonies in which an important element was the military escort. The army occupied a special place in the hearts of fellow countrymen, and particularly women due also to aesthetic and sentimental considerations – soldiers and officers in their elegant uniforms set contemporary standards of courage and masculinity as well as canons of fashion.30 Certain aspects of the everyday functioning of the numerous army and exceptional position of the military in society annoyed many observers, otherwise sincerely believing in its patriotic mission. Seriously burdensome were the extraordinary supplies of fabric and raw materials demanded by the army, as well as the obligation, lasting for years, to accommodate soldiers and officers in private homes.31 Some observers also complained that among the officer cadre ‘the national spirit’ had given way to mechanical imitation of models binding in the French army. Hostility was especially aroused by the arbitrariness with which the military satisfied its needs at the expense of civilians. Sanguszko, a former friend of Prince Józef, visiting him during the Galician expedition, observed with annoyance that ‘an excess of sacrifices is being extracted from citizens not with requests, as before, but with threats’. As Fredro claimed, ‘A citizen meant little and his property less still. Under military rule, even if a citizen meant more than a private’s horse, he still meant much less than any private soldier.’32 Civilians had to daily resign themselves to the burdensome and costly demands of the army, or tolerate corrupt practices accompanying the exaction of evidence in its support. Complaints about the oppression of civilians by the military suggest that former legionary leaders were especially inclined to abuse their power. Veterans of

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the legions, recognized as the bedrock of Napoleon’s support, attracted the particular attention of critics. Severe assessments of them were also expressed by moderate advocates of Napoleon’s patronage of the Polish question. Observing Sokolnicki’s actions in Galicia, Kajetan Koźmian claimed that apart from his courage and talents as a strategist, the general, because of his ‘mixing with the French’ over many years, ‘had imbibed their notions, while their conduct in Italy and other conquered countries had become his own bad habit’. Accompanying the process of professionalization of the officer cadre was the conviction held by many of its representatives, that war was a suitable occasion to compensate for the dangers of the military profession by oppressing the civilian population. The example of certain commanders was eagerly followed by their subordinates who, ‘confident of the leniency of the senior command permitted themselves various abuses, acts of oppression, even rape’. Such unceremonious behaviour partly sprang from the need to urgently satisfy soldiers’ basic needs. It was also a consequence of officers’ and soldiers’ belief in their superiority over civilians. As Fredro noted years later, ‘The Polish army in those days was splendid, magnificent, full of honour and courage, but its young life … sometimes hovered on the brink of civil disorder. There was no lack of rigorous laws, … but a lack of discipline.’33 Indiscipline was clearly visible in the scourge of duelling. It was criticized even by the commander-in-chief, himself highly sensitive on points of honour. At the same time, however, any officer who happened to kill his colleague in a duel was pardoned thanks to Prince Józef ’s intervention with the king. Poniatowski’s leniency also embraced one of the main causes of duels – officers’ passion for gambling. Cards were treated not only as an exciting way of spending free time but also of gaining the approval of colleagues: ‘The principle prevailed in our army that a man who did not care for money, worried not about the future and was prepared to stake his fortune on a card, would be just as eager to lay down his life when the need arose,’ one officer claimed.34 The sense of personal self-worth, of special mission and specific communal esprit that commanders attempted to instil in soldiers sometimes manifested itself in ways undesirable to civilians. In 1811 the authors of an address from the Chamber of Envoys to the king warned of ‘a spirit of isolation from society’ appearing in the army ‘usually accompanied by indiscipline and the poisoning of the lives of other classes’. The sharp end of criticism provoked by the army’s caste-like attitudes as well as its ‘unruliness’ was frequently aimed at the commander-in-chief. Although his courage and competence were never seriously questioned, Poniatowski was accused of inefficiency in the administration of the army, distaste for systematic work and above all, excessive leniency towards subordinates.35 Poniatowski was excellent, however, at inspiring soldiers’ enthusiasm and readiness to make sacrifices. Several other generals were similarly able to arouse the army’s zeal and affection. It seems their direct influence on morale compensated for deficiencies in training and equipment. If we take into account the high percentage of inexperienced soldiers and officers and the brevity of their training, then the attitude of the Duchy’s army in 1806–7 and again in 1809 is impressive. It was also to demonstrate much fighting spirit in 1812 and in 1813–14. This suggests a positive atmosphere prevailing among the majority of soldiers. Such an assessment is not contradicted by the high percentage of deserters, which is comparable to that of other armies in Napoleonic

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Europe. The image emerging from research on desertion portrays only one side of reality: namely, the more unpleasant aspects of the everyday existence of soldiers recently separated from their families, led by often incompetent officers or brutal noncommissioned officers trying to instil fighting spirit and skills. Not every corporal, however, was a brute and not every officer a military ignoramus. Many private soldiers were able with time to value military life – if only the regular provision of decent food, which for conscripts from the villages was a genuine luxury. As they adapted to army life, soldiers developed a sense of identification with their comrades-in-arms, officers, regimental eagle and finally the cause for which they were fighting. Notions of the latter among privates were no doubt imprecise, sometimes frankly naive. They should not be compared to modern expressions of national consciousness. However, it is probably fair to say that a feeling of belonging – based more on intuition than any coherent world view – to a collectivity that had set itself the task of regaining its own political state appeared among soldiers of peasant or petty urban origin considerably earlier than it did in their home environments. A conversation among soldiers recorded by one diarist seems an unlikely fabrication: ‘“The fatherland does not pay, because it is poor,” they said, “we should serve it nevertheless, because it is our fatherland; it will pay us when it is rich”.’36 Despite many setbacks arising during training, Poniatowski, his generals and officer cadre succeeded in creating an armed force which, from the point of view of its determination and courage, was able to stand up to the best armies of contemporary Europe. This would be confirmed by the war of 1812, in which, following initial losses suffered on the march through disease and desertion, Poniatowski’s corps and other regiments of the Duchy left their mark as a formidable fighting force. The behaviour and lifestyle of many military men aroused considerable controversy, especially in peacetime. This was because of the high expectations invested in the soldier-liberators – ideals to which many men in uniform did not live up on a daily basis. At the same time, however, the army was closely associated with the hopes and emotions of the majority of its compatriots, even those who distanced themselves from Napoleon’s cause. One example was Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, whose diary from the beginning of 1813 proves the admiration and respect with which this supporter of Alexander I regarded the stance of Poniatowski’s corps: ‘Some kept up their spirit almost to the end, did not cease to be courageous and to fight … the Muscovites themselves justly recognize the bravery and discipline of the Poles. At Berezina, they rescued Napoleon and his army.’37 The services rendered by the sometimes unruly heirs of Sobieski were never in doubt, their faults never so dire as to undermine the pride and hope inspired by the sight of regiments in national uniforms.

6

‘Money! Money! Money!’ or the Foundations of ‘National Prosperity’

From treatises on the economy and natural resources of the Duchy published in 1807–12, the reader might learn that it had none too dense a network of roads, whereas a significant proportion of its territory was covered by forest. Post riders and the mail coach guaranteed a reasonably efficient transportation of people and letters, although in autumn and winter, roads often became impassable due to mud and snow. When considering the prospects for economic development, most contemporary economists and politicians underlined the need to improve overland communications by expanding the network of beaten roads. In contemporary economic and social debates, a regular theme was the Duchy’s low level of urbanization. Like the greater part of Europe, especially the central and eastern regions, it was a rural society. From statistics compiled on the basis of prefects’ reports made in 1810, it emerges that 82 per cent of all inhabited dwellings in the Duchy were located in the countryside. The outward appearance of Polish rural settlements prompted critical opinions from foreign travellers. Many of them, such as George Burnett, tended to agree that a Polish village was an agglomeration of squalid cottages, numbering from eight to ten to forty to fifty, built of wood and roofed in thatch or peat. The majority of Polish publicists acknowledged the accuracy of foreign travellers’ assessments, in which sympathy for the burdensome existence of peasants was often accompanied by obvious confidence in their own cultural superiority.1 In 1810 there were 633 towns in the Duchy – not many from the point of view of those who saw its main sources of prosperity in urban trade, handicrafts and manufacturing. What is more, only three cities had more than 10,000 inhabitants. Warsaw alone had the status of a metropolis. By that time the capital had emerged from the crisis prompted by the country’s loss of statehood and had a population of approximately 78,000. In this respect, it trailed behind major European capitals. It was, however, one of the continent’s larger cities having a population of over 50,000. Its population significantly exceeded other urban centres in the Duchy: Kraków (25,000) and Poznań (16,000). After these came several large towns having 5,000 to 10,000 inhabitants. A further fifty-two towns were able to boast a population of between 2,000 and 5,000, and also ranked as urban centres. The remaining towns were predominantly small centres with populations of a few hundred to one thousand.2 Wawrzyniec Surowiecki, the leading Polish economist of the day, portrayed the dismal decline of Polish towns, consisting of ‘streets without houses, empty market

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squares, town halls without windows and roofs’ and inhabited by a population that spent its ‘entire life loafing around empty streets, floundering in mud without knowing where to begin or how to soften the miserable fate that had struck it’. Such opinions were somewhat exaggerated. As surviving wills demonstrate, in towns with a population of several thousand, unimpressive single- or two-storied buildings did indeed predominate, yet the furnishings of houses belonging to wealthier townsmen also included many luxury articles of foreign origin.3 The concrete reality of ‘urban status’ left something to be desired. As Stanisław Staszic, a leading figure of the Polish Enlightenment, regretted, there were few genuine towns: ‘The country has few of them, since the majority do not differ from villages, while the townsman is merely a farmer. The country has almost no handicrafts or factories.’ The livelihood of the overwhelming majority of inhabitants of small urban settlements depended on agriculture. In larger towns, trade and minor manufacturing were already playing a greater role in economic life. Alongside individual artisans, small manufacturing workshops as well as breweries and distilleries were functioning. As in larger conurbations, so too in smaller ones, public houses and inns were permanent features of the urban landscape. Profits from the production and sale of beer and vodka were often the basis of people’s livelihood and the main source of income in many towns.4 The foundation of the country’s wealth was agriculture, especially the cultivation of grain: rye, oats, barley and wheat. For centuries, the corn trade had been the basis of Polish exports providing substantial income to the szlachta and was one of the fundamental elements in the trading power of Danzig. Forestry products – timber, potash, staves, planks and floorboards, or wax – also brought substantial profits.5 ‘Agriculture is the cornerstone of our might and wealth,’ declared Dominik Krysiński in 1807, graduate of German schools, erstwhile tutor to the sons of Minister of Justice Feliks Łubieński, and himself later a professor of political economy at the Principal School for Administration and Law [Szkoła Główna Administracji i Prawa]. It was not a particularly sophisticated observation. The dominance of agriculture in the country’s economy could not be ignored since, as is evident from contemporary records, urban artisan and industrial production employed only about 11 per cent of the population. Meanwhile, 82 per cent made its living directly or indirectly from agriculture. This situation, whereby the mainstay of state income was the export of agricultural products, prompted anxiety over the prospects for stable growth of the economy.6 Publicists addressing questions of economic development maintained that the future welfare of the country’s inhabitants required greater diversification in the sources of national wealth. A crucial factor in this diversification was to be the accelerated economic development of cities and towns. According to such commentators, the introduction of the Napoleonic system of power created opportunities for speeding up social and economic change. This belief sprang from Enlightenment notions of strong government, which was allegedly able to overcome long-term backwardness. The executive organs of the Duchy, having been granted wide-ranging responsibilities, seemed to be the materialization of dreams of enlightened, benevolent government nurtured for decades by sections of the political and intellectual elite. Not without reason did Surowiecki, in dedicating his reflections to minister Łubieński, invoke his

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assertion that ‘our country will blossom again only by reviving towns and industry; only by establishing factories and spreading enlightenment will its former riches and glory be restored’. The government, so it was postulated, should make its own capital investments and provide protection for producers. Its goal should be to seek the capital essential to them. Teacher Tadeusz Szumski, in a work dedicated to the Council of State, claimed that Poles did not lack courage or self-sacrifice in the restoration of their state, but industry, while ‘the most important and essential thing for industry and national prosperity is: money! money! money!’7 Economic historians have noted in many works published at the time, not without reason, the influence of growth initiative theory. Strong government, however, was not simply meant to stimulate economic growth. Even Surowiecki, who prized liberal economic ideas, observed that a condition for the development of home production in the Duchy was ‘vigilant governmental protection’. The authorities should protect home producers, accurately identifying their needs as well as reasons for the weakness of domestic industry and handicrafts.8 An almost universal conviction was that the government should intervene to protect domestic trade and industry against the  domination of stronger competitors from abroad. They were also to prevent the danger of money draining from the state. Publicists also voiced the conviction, evident to many people, that the government should support public education, since society’s level of education and its civilizational development went hand in hand. The government was to be the main driving force of change. Besides, the government recognized this role as obvious, proof being the instruction issued by Minister of Internal Affairs Łuszczewski to department councils in 1808, in which he urged them to gather information on the needs of local foundries, breweries, distilleries and other manufacturing industries, as well as the numbers who ‘expect government encouragement and help’.9 Expectations of support from the government were enormous. The conditions, however, in which the economic take-off was to begin, were difficult. The war of 1806–7 had ravaged a large proportion of the Duchy’s territory. Devastation caused by war, and losses associated with the passage of troops and the services provided for their benefit, had reduced the already low economic potential of the land. Inhabitants in many localities, instead of investing, were preoccupied first and foremost with rebuilding following the ruination of war, or with compensation claims for losses incurred. High politics also complicated the state’s economic situation. The Duchy, as a state under Napoleon’s protection, was included in the Continental System, instigated by the emperor’s Berlin decree of 21 November 1806. This meant that all British goods, or goods purchased from British merchants were to be confiscated, while traders doing business with them had to pay high fines. Legal trade, in limited quantities and on the basis of increased customs tariffs, was confined to only a few merchants, who obtained special licences from the authorities. The influx of goods from Britain could not be entirely blocked, however – goods trickled onto the continent, thanks to the massive trade in contraband. The fight against smuggling and illegal trading particularly intensified in 1810. The blockade brought with it a series of problems for the Duchy’s economy. It cut off the Duchy’s producers of grain and forestry products from their main customer. It

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is estimated that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, between 50 per cent and 90 per cent of corn exports through Danzig went to Britain. Danzig merchants admittedly succeeded in gaining permission to export a certain amount of these products, but this was only a small proportion of the exports from before 1806.10 Restrictions on the export of grain prompted large surpluses for which it was hard to find buyers. In the course of five years, the price of wheat fell on the Warsaw market by 40 per cent, rye by 48 per cent. Landowners’ incomes decreased and hence too the value of their estates. In circumstances where the internal market was poorly developed, the income of farms, based above all on grain production, was heavily dependent on external factors and opportunities for export. Hard times had come for noblemen’s farms.11 Contemporary memoirs present a grim picture of the decline of agriculture and noble estates. In 1806–7 landowners spent their savings, or remains of the ready cash acquired from Prussian credits, on patriotic causes, on paying taxes and various other contributions. Their situation was made worse by the chaos that began to prevail in the countryside after the emancipation of the peasants. Thousands abandoned their one-time places of residence seeking a better life elsewhere. They left noblemen’s farms as well as their own plots of land to go to fallow. Estate owners could not initially cope with the sudden loss of labourers. This was magnified by recruitment and having to provide services to the army, such as the fortification work in Modlin and Praga, which took thousands of able villagers away from the countryside.12 Particular difficulties were experienced by 690 landowners whose estates were encumbered by the Prussian debts taken over by the Duchy’s government as the Bayonne sums (so-called after the French town in which the arrangements were finalized). The average liability amounted to 26,000 thalers; in some cases, however, it reached several hundred thousand, often exceeding the value of the property. Although those in debt made up 14.5 per cent of the country’s noble landowners, these were mostly representatives of the middling szlachta, possessing from two to five large farms, and thus the social class which was most active politically and regarded as the backbone of Polish national feeling and patriotism, and which in 1806–9 produced many examples of self-sacrifice in the interests of restoring the independent state. Among them were many significant individuals and representatives of important families – envoys to the Sejm, judges or high-ranking officials with Minister of Justice Łubieński at their head. The financial situation after 1807 practically prevented the debtors from paying off their debts. Many never paid off even the interest on them. In 1808 the Council of State threatened to auction their property. This harsh measure brought no financial benefits because of the declining value of landed estates. Few were willing to purchase them due to the lack of free movement of capital and general conviction that the economic and political situation did not favour investment in agriculture. The few willing purchasers came from a group of speculators who managed to negotiate transactions with the debtors advantageous to themselves. In this way, according to Skarbek, ancestral estates ‘fell into the hands of new people, from whom the nation could not expect dedicated citizens’. A temporary solution to the problem was the decree issued by the king in 1810 allowing landowners paying off accrued interest on their debt, an extension of ten years to pay it off. By 1815 the government had succeeded in collecting from

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debtors about 75 per cent of the outstanding interest for the period to 1808 and only 0.3 per cent of the actual value of the debts.13 Another reason for the poor state of the economy was the lack of coin. This was the result to a certain extent of the earlier fiscal policy of the Prussians and Austrians, who consistently took better coin out of circulation and replaced it with coin of poorer quality. The number of coins remaining in circulation fell in 1807 since certain Prussian officials responsible for them, fleeing in the autumn of 1806, succeeded in absconding with at least some public monies. The influx of new coin was curtailed because of the lack of outlets for grain. ‘Let us also add, that since we buy everything from foreigners except bread and beer, and foreigners buy nothing from us, it is not hard to understand the general privation,’ Niemcewicz explained. Incomes from landed properties transferred to French marshals and generals likewise flowed out of the Duchy. In addition, the functioning of the economy was complicated by the lack of a uniform monetary system. Polish, Austrian, Prussian and French coins were in circulation. Speculators importing copper coins from Prussia that were losing value, and exchanging them in the Duchy for gold or silver coins, made excellent profits on the various exchange rates.14 Liabilities incurred through having to maintain the army, above all high rates of taxation, also provoked universal dissatisfaction: ‘The inhabitants complain about the many taxes, and in some parts of the department about the shortage of salt, while merchants complain generally that trade has totally collapsed, and because of this the circulation of money has ceased, of which there is so little in the country anyway’ – the local authorities of the Bydgoszcz Department claimed in a report. The fall in grain prices, indebtedness of landed estates, unprofitable balance of foreign trade in 1808–9 and the losses borne by many merchants for years afterwards inclined Skarbek to make his bleak assessment of universal bankruptcy and ‘genuine national destitution’ into which the Duchy had sunk.15 Meanwhile, the authorities were faced by huge expenditure connected above all with the enlargement of fortresses and maintenance of the expanding army. Direct and indirect taxes were meant to cover these costs, as was income from customs duties, the postal service, stamp duty and the monopoly on salt, the sale of state lands or their lease, compulsory supply of goods in kind, as well as numerous ‘extraordinary contributions’. It quickly became apparent that state income was insufficient. The Treasury’s deficit grew from year to year, as did the national debt taken out to cover essential needs. By 1811 the debt had already reached 55.5 million zlotys, approximately the size of the state’s annual budget. The situation was not helped by loans – neither by external ones received from France nor by internal ones secured on state lands, nor by the issuing of Treasury bills intended to be covered by profits from customs duties. The state, which was not in a position to regularly pay the army and civil service, was threatened by bankruptcy. The Duchy’s political elite was aware of the mounting danger. The rigid demands set by Napoleon in the area of defence, understood and accepted however as fundamental to Polish reason of state, entailed enormous costs. As Minister of Internal Affairs Łuszczewski warned in a memo of spring 1808 to the king and Council of State: ‘Above all, I repeat, we have no cash.’ In his opinion, remedies were to be a foreign loan and

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decrease in the Treasury’s liabilities, thanks to a reduction in the Polish army and the financing of French units stationed in the country by the French imperial Treasury. The council’s room for manoeuvre was limited. However, it embarked upon both official and behind-the-scenes negotiations in Dresden and Paris in order to relieve the situation. It appealed to the king to employ ‘all his powers of persuasion’ when confronting Napoleon with the Duchy’s enormous expenditure on the military. The outcome was Napoleon’s transference of several Polish regiments to the French payroll. The creation of the now French-paid Division of the Duchy of Warsaw and the withdrawal of French units from the Duchy’s territory did not significantly improve the situation. A few months later, the war with Austria and necessity of maintaining an expanded army swallowed further huge sums from the Treasury. The financial situation continued to deteriorate during 1810–12. In one of his reports to Napoleon in November 1811, Marshal Davout included remarks passed on to him by the governor of Danzig General Rapp about the state of the Duchy’s finances. The picture coincides with assessments made by the Council of State: the decline in trade, imminent bankruptcy of ‘the richest families’, empty military coffers and delays in the payment of salaries to civil servants. Napoleon must have been especially attentive to comments concerning the mood in the army, where mass desertion threatened ‘not because of lack of patriotism and commitment to the public cause, but because of insufficient means’. The Duchy’s neighbours meanwhile did not fail to take advantage of the growing dissatisfaction, by ‘trying to destroy public spirit and weaken love for the fatherland’. The vision of financial catastrophe concluded with a bold suggestion: the situation could be saved only by the restoration of grain exports. Without it, ‘general bankruptcy is unavoidable, and would entail the greatest damage, the least of which would be total disorder in the army’. Maybe the observations passed on by Rapp were evidence of the behind-the-scenes negotiations undertaken by the Council of State. It cannot be ruled out that Prince Józef, when he visited Polish regiments stationed in Danzig in 1810, held conversations in a similar vein with the governor. The catastrophic state of the country’s finances was not only the result of its difficult economic situation, devastation caused by war and scale of expenditure exceeding budget capabilities. In ways difficult to define, it was also the result of the still primitive fiscal system, which caused erroneous assessments of taxes due and also hampered their collection at the appropriate level. Financial management improved somewhat when Tadeusz Matuszewicz, former envoy to the Four Years Sejm and member of the Galician delegation to Napoleon, became minister of finance in 1811. His actions resulted in regulation of the tax system and reorganization of the important financial monopoly on salt. Matuszewicz also succeeded in negotiating a postponement to repayment of the Bayonne sums as well as of the next loan provided to the Duchy by Napoleon.16 The Council of State attempted to improve the financial situation without losing sight of the great expectations invested in the new system of government by sections of public opinion, and without relinquishing its own ambitions for changing the state’s profile. The Duchy’s political elite perceived advantages in expanding the number of government-funded and administered manufacturing industries and factories. Activities in this area, however, made little headway because of the continuing lack

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of Treasury money. During Council of State debates, much attention was paid to intensifying private production. On the orders of the minister of finance, local authorities prepared questionnaires on the needs of industry and handicrafts, including help that the government might impart. Private investors were enticed through temporary tax exemptions. Particular importance was attached to the development of the woollen cloth industry, metallurgy, the wood industry and tanning, where production attracted primarily foreign buyers, thus improving the balance of trade. In order to ‘encourage industrialists’, a decree was issued exempting from compulsory quartering of soldiers industrialists who introduced ‘larger machines’ into their factories thereby replacing manual labour. The effects of stimulating production in this way could not be immediate. Government interventions in the area of foreign trade had greater chance of influencing the economic situation and state finances. Already in 1807 the government succeeded in negotiating Prussian agreement to duty-free trade on the Vistula, exemption from transit duty on trade though Silesia, and the opening of the military and trade route to Saxony. A fundamental principle driving the commercial policy of the Duchy’s authorities was the need, accepted by the majority of European states, to put into practice a system of protectionist customs duties. These were meant to defend home production against foreign competition and hasten the country’s economic development. In accordance with precisely these aims, privileges introduced after the partitions were abolished for Prussian merchants, who from then on had to pay, like everyone else trading with the Duchy, customs duty of 6 per cent of the value of imported goods, and 2 per cent of exported goods. The Duchy’s governing elite tried, however, to avoid any tightening of commercial relations with any adjacent country so as not to restrict possible outlets for its own goods. The creation of an independent trading policy was hampered by the impossibility of conducting diplomatic relations, which remained the responsibility of Saxony, and by the Duchy’s position within the Napoleonic system. Napoleon’s protectorate over the Duchy meant that the principle according to which all foreign trading partners were treated equally did not affect trade with France. Customs duty charged on goods imported from France amounted to only 1 per cent of their value. None too brisk economic contacts between the two countries, however, meant that this privileging of French trade had little effect on the Duchy’s balance of trade. Attempts by Saxony, which was economically strong, to gain commercial privileges similar to France were potentially much more dangerous. The Council of State, fearing that Saxon goods might flood the internal market, tried to resist pressure from Frederick Augustus’s ministers. In several instances, however, the Saxon side succeeded in gaining more profitable terms than the Duchy’s other trading partners, for example, in woollen cloth and porcelain.17 Despite political constraints, the government nevertheless tried to ensure that customs policy created favourable conditions for developing home handicrafts and industry and for promoting the Duchy’s trade. Hence, woollen cloth, products made from domestic iron and ‘all articles manufactured by artists, factories and artisans’ were exempted from export duty. The low import duty on chemicals for dying cloth was intended to assist the cloth industry. In order to guarantee favourable conditions

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for the growth of industrial production, duty on imported iron ore was removed. At the same time, a high tariff was imposed on its export, in order to prevent its outflow from the country. Government attention was also drawn to the trade in cattle and horses. The necessity of supplying its own army inclined the Duchy to limit, and temporarily even to ban, their export to Saxony. The army’s needs were so great that, in order to satisfy them, cattle and horses were imported from the Austrian and Russian partitions.18 The protectionist principles eagerly embraced by the Duchy’s rulers consolidated to some extent domestic production and trade. Attempts at centralized control of the economy undertaken without precise information about the situation on the ground, however, forced economic life – with all its regional variations – into too rigid a framework defined by numerous decrees and instructions. The government’s belief in the benefits of protectionist customs duties sometimes led to decisions disadvantageous to particular regions or segments of the domestic market. For example, the ban on the export of iron ore led to substantial losses in the Kalisz Department, where the raw material was extracted and had been exported to Silesia.19 The grim vision portrayed by Skarbek of a country devastated by war, stripped of money and steeped in economic stagnation, turned out to be unusually suggestive. Only in the 1960s were attempts made to confront Skarbek’s view with actual sources, above all with statistical information and official reports on the state of the economy. Any unambiguous reassessment proved impossible. Gaps in the source material and the fragmentary nature of preserved data, covering only part of the economic reality, complicate the recreation of any comprehensive picture. They enable, however, some of Skarbek’s assertions to be verified as well as new hypotheses and research questions to be formulated. Barbara Grochulska’s studies of the Duchy’s economy cast new light on the ravages of war which allegedly led in 1807 to starvation. Accounts of starvation are contradicted by references to grain surpluses in reports compiled by people responsible for supplying food to the army. The energetic activities of Wybicki in 1807 resolved many problems associated with feeding the army – but only when he began to seek provisions away from the main theatres of war and pay for them in cash. It is difficult to regard official statistics on amounts of grain sown and size of harvests as entirely reliable. Landowners might have provided exaggeratedly low figures for fear of extraordinary taxes or contributions. Researchers have tried to make sense of existing information by relating the average sowing to the acreage under cultivation, and as a result have revised their opinions about the total ruin of the Duchy’s agriculture following the wars of 1806–7 and 1809. This conclusion is confirmed by data on the size of sowings and harvests in documentation surviving from individual landed estates. A comparison between the size of grain production defined in this way and its average consumption leads to the conclusion that neither the Kościuszko Insurrection nor the wars of 1807 and 1809 brought about so much destruction that agriculture declined across the whole territory. The concentration of military operations and passages of troops within a defined area, for example, along major lines of communication, might have engendered enormous local losses. Across the Duchy as a whole, however, there were grain surpluses, especially in more fertile regions where a larger acreage of cultivatable land could be exploited.

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Military operations and concurrent requisitioning hit animal husbandry to a greater degree. It is estimated that in the Kalisz Department the number of beef cattle, which in 1800 amounted to more than 254,000, had decreased by more than 42,000. As a result of subsequent years of requisitioning, the number of horses also decreased. The fall in numbers is not in doubt, although trust should not be placed unduly in official data. Animal farmers included in statistical surveys certainly understated the real number of horses and cattle they possessed. Surpluses existed, yet animals could be purchased for cash and at higher prices than those usually offered by the army. Shortages in supply were therefore supplemented to some degree by importing horses from Russia.20 Research on foreign trade also enabled conclusions to be drawn about the influence of the continental blockade on the Duchy’s economy. The blockade affected economic life throughout Europe. For decades, historians had argued over its effectiveness as a tool in the economic war with Britain and its direct and far-reaching influence on the functioning of continental economic structures and commercial ties. The blockade undoubtedly increased the problems of many regions, whose production and trade were largely tied to exchange with Britain, if only via the great port cities of Germany and Holland. There were centres, however, that received an economic boost from the new situation. Towns and cities located along overland trade routes gained in importance, such as Brody in Galicia, through which flowed goods traded in the port of Odessa, or commercial centres situated in the continent’s interior, such as Leipzig. Restrictions on the free exchange of goods had a negative effect on the economic development of the continent. At the same time, however, the blockade created conditions in which, alongside the decline of certain centres of production, others benefited from the removal of the strong competition from British trade – to mention only Prussian or Saxon centres of the sugar industry.21 In the case of the Duchy of Warsaw, the general feeling was that the blockade, by interrupting the sale of grain abroad, destroyed the foundation of the national economy. Data collected by the government indicated a dramatic fall in exports in the years 1808–9. The balance of foreign trade showed disturbing tendencies. The value of goods imported from abroad (more than 33.3 million zlotys) considerably exceeded the value of exports (19.2 million). Although information relating to the Duchy’s turnover in foreign trade is incomplete, it is possible nevertheless to confirm on this basis the decline in the value of exports along the Vistula, traditionally recognized as the most important trading route for grain. Government comparisons for 1810/1811, however, contain more optimistic data. In the course of three years, the proportion of imported to exported goods underwent a change – imported goods were worth approximately 33 million zlotys, whereas exports now amounted to more than 40 million. The country’s economy had therefore begun to adapt to the new conditions. The decline in the Vistula trade did not lead to the complete breakdown of the corn trade. Overland routes began to play an ever greater role in foreign export. It is hard to claim with absolute certainty whether this was a new process, or whether the role of the traditional, eighteenth-century trade through Danzig of Polish grain had been exaggerated. The effect of the blockade on the Duchy’s economy also varied according to region. When examining the effects, it is important to take into consideration the

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traditional commercial links of specific regions, as is shown by research into the history of Kraków during the Napoleonic period, from which it emerges that the severing of trade links with Britain had no particular effect on the city’s economy.22 Searching for reasons underlying the Duchy’s difficult economic situation, most contemporaries blamed the enormous cost of the army. Liabilities incurred because of the army, including increased taxes, extraordinary financial services and compulsory billeting, were considerable and burdensome. Town finances suffered losses because of the need to maintain field hospitals, or because of government customs policies, often fixed in order to satisfy the army at the expense of the interests of local craftsmen and merchants. It is difficult to assess unequivocally the effect of the large army on the economic situation. Despite frequent delays in the payment of wages, Niemcewicz no doubt had a point when he suggested, in relation to the general shortage of coin, that it ‘was slowly seeping’ into circulation thanks to the many garrisons dotted across the country. The army created an outlet market for home producers of grain. Entrepreneurs, who organized provisions on a large scale, supplying the army with food, vodka, uniforms, footwear and equipment, made the largest profits. Local merchants and craftsmen, however, also profited from individual units stationed in their neighbourhoods. Publicans could certainly count on increased profits – not so much because of any special propensity of soldiers to consume alcohol, as its being a component of a soldier’s daily ration and an essential commodity in field hospitals. The presence of the army also prompted local consumption in the wider sense. Thanks to this, as an official of the Poznań Department observed in 1809, ‘markets have come to life’, which increased the income from trade flowing to the Treasury. Was the army one of the flywheels driving the economy? Further research is needed. The example of Kraków raises doubts. Army presence in the city indeed increased the need for services, goods and food; profit flowing from these, however, did not compensate for the losses incurred by townspeople obliged to provide compulsory services and quarters to the military.23 What effect taxes imposed on inhabitants had on the Duchy’s overall economy requires further investigation. A substantial proportion of financial resources collected in this manner returned to circulation, if only as payment for realizing orders on behalf of the army. The fiscal policy of the Duchy therefore did not lead to financial drainage, but to a flow of capital between various social groups. The enormous requirements of the army combined with the state’s poor financial situation created favourable conditions for the activities of a group of energetic contractors with substantial capital at their disposal – entrepreneurs predominantly of Jewish origin. Their role in provisioning the army was stressed already in 1807 by Davout, who had observed them in action. They provided the government with credit to buy products essential to the functioning of the army, and also organized their supply. It so happened that they had earlier invested their capital in specific goods, especially food products, at a time when prices were lower. The almost constant shortage of money in state coffers strengthened the position of these contractors in negotiations with the authorities, allowing them to push up the cost of their services by threatening to cut off supplies. As opposition envoy Józef Godlewski complained, this was also the result of the army administration’s poor management of purchases, which it made ‘when there

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was no food in the depots and the soldier was waiting for it outside the door. Then the price set by the greedy supplier had to be paid,’ adding that in the case of only one contract for the purchase of grain in 1811, the Treasury suffered losses amounting to several hundred thousand zlotys.24 Some of the problems, with which the Duchy’s economy or its individual regions had to grapple, may also have been the result of mistakes made during central government attempts to manage the many branches of production and outlet markets, when information about the real needs of industry and trade flowing from regional centres to the capital was insufficient. Observations made about the Duchy’s economic life also suggest its internal market continued to be badly organized. This led to situations where home production was poorly linked to the supply of domestic raw materials, while outlet markets did not take into account domestic needs. For example, domestic sheep farmers directed a substantial proportion of their production abroad, while cloth manufacturers used imported wool; the quantity of iron produced in the Duchy was sufficient to cover its needs, yet a large proportion of it was allocated for export, while domestic needs were covered by imports.25 The Duchy’s economic situation defies any clear-cut assessments. Certainly, it is hard to question the vision of total disaster descending on the country as a result of wars, the rigours of the continental blockade, high taxation, the cost of expanding the army, and the general financial crisis. Historians researching economic life in this period, however, have drawn attention to the economy’s gradually transforming profile as well as to changes in the way production and outlet markets were organized. The decreasing profitability of landed estates and difficulties with outlets for grain inclined part of the szlachta to undertake experiments in the intensification of farming. This required seeking new solutions for agricultural production. Many landowners tried to exploit their grain surpluses, which were difficult to sell, in their own breweries and distilleries. The huge requirements of the army provided an impulse to develop cattle farming, above all in the western departments of the country. A distinct growth in woollen cloth manufacture gave a boost in turn to the profitability of sheep farming based on domestic breeds and breeds imported from Saxony. One consequence was an increase in the acreage given over to the cultivation of clover, essential to sheep farming. The dynamic industrial development anticipated by many people on the threshold of the new era was to remain a dream. After 1807 there was nevertheless a distinct boom in many branches of manufacture, above all in woollen cloth production, exported also to Russia. Modernization of manufacturing methods, like further growth in the number of cloth-producing factories, was held back, however, as official reports indicated, by the shortage of free capital. After the Duchy’s annexation of Galicia, greater roles in the economy were played by mining and metallurgy. The production of both private and state-owned foundries and workshops almost totally satisfied the country’s need for unwrought iron. A proportion of this iron was used in the manufacture of ammunition and of sabres and bayonets; the remainder was exported, including to the Austrian Partition. The country’s leading domestic industries were however distilling and beer-making. This was largely a result of having to satisfy the needs of the army: as mentioned above,

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vodka was an essential element of tens of thousands of soldiers’ daily rations; it was also indispensable to the stockrooms of field and civilian hospitals, not to mention individual consumption enlivening the free time not only of soldiers. Increased production of spirit, vodka and beer was prompted above all, however, by the need to exploit surpluses of grain lying in granaries, which could no longer be sold abroad. About a thousand breweries and more than 1,100 distilleries were in operation in large towns alone. Inns became one of the mainstays of hundreds of small towns, while in the villages they were the source of significant income to landowners as well as to publicans leasing the inns from them. Overall, 2.1 per cent of the Duchy’s professionally active population was employed in the production and distribution of beer and vodka, that is, a body more numerous than the clergy, civil servants, teachers, health workers and representatives of the liberal professions put together. The remainder of people employed in the industrial and artisan sector, constituting 9.3 per cent of the professionally active population, made up more than 150 professional groups.26 The character of the Duchy’s economic life and changes taking place in it were reflected in the structure of foreign trade. Its basis was still the export of grain, amounting to 76 per cent of its overall value. Eight per cent of the value of the exchange with abroad depended on the export of timber, manufactured wooden articles, and forestry products. The important traditional role of this sector of the economy in the Polish lands was reinforced after 1807 by the financial needs of the state. In a situation of continuing financial crisis, the budget was rescued by an intensive clearance of forests. The export of raw materials and textile products, including woollen cloth, amounted to approximately 3 per cent. Based on the fragmentary data, it is possible to draw certain conclusions about the structure of imports. Almost half of their value was made up of industrial products, including metal articles and especially agricultural tools, as well as cotton products from Silesia and Prussia. The main trading partner of the Duchy was Prussia, to where more than 45 per cent of exports flowed, above all grain, wood, wool and woollen cloth. Goods imported from Prussia constituted about 30 per cent of the total value of imports. Trade contacts with Austria were also important (7.5 per cent and 17 per cent, respectively). The greatest turnover in foreign trade, however, was with Russia (27 per cent of exports and about 23 per cent of imports), to where above all wool and woollen cloth were exported, whereas cattle, vodka and grain were imported. An ukaz issued by Alexander I in January 1811 closing the Duchy’s borders to trade caused considerable losses to domestic producers. As a result of the ukaz, there was also a decline in income from customs duties on the transit trade, which in the new situation redirected itself to routes running through Prussia and Austria.27 The restrictions introduced by the blockade led to a drop in income for landowners and for merchants trading in corn or in goods that emanated from the exchange with Britain. In the long term, however, the blockade was conducive to strengthening contacts with the markets of Central and Eastern Europe as well as to a transformation of economic structures. Such processes were also facilitated by political transformations. The personal freedom granted to peasants forced a gradual conversion from feudal farms to farming based on hired labour. A surplus of spare labour also appeared on the market – peasants seeking improvement in their lives could move from one village

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to another or to towns. The needs of the ever more populous army increased internal demand for agricultural and industrial products. Changes taking place in agriculture did not remain without influence on other branches of production. The surpluses of grain amassed as a result of the blockade, for example, encouraged the development of brewing and distilling. There is no doubt that these were hard times. The profitability of landed estates declined. Some passed into the hands of new owners because of the debts incurred by their erstwhile owners. Meanwhile, some merchants whose traditional trading contacts had been interrupted by the continental blockade, or by instructions affecting the export and import of goods, were unable to adjust to the new economic situation. In some areas of production, artisan craftsmen also incurred losses, squeezed out of the market by larger factories already using machines. Resentment against the new order was expressed by representatives of trade guilds, which lost their former privileges, concessions and customers. All groups complained about heavy taxes being their ruin. While some lost out, others made a profit. Among landowners, there appeared enterprising ‘capitalists’, who bought up landed estates in their search for prestige and a place to lodge their capital. The most noticeable group emerged from the milieu of great military contractors, holders of monopolies on commodities and men who acquired the right to collect certain taxes on payment of a specified sum to the government. These were perceived to be the real beneficiaries of the Duchy’s economic situation after 1807. Energy, access to representatives in the administration, but above all possession of capital enabled them to conduct activities in many fields at once. A contractor could invest capital in various enterprises, thus acting as army provider, manufacturer and banker. It was from this group of simultaneous entrepreneurs and financiers that the financial elite of the nineteenth century would emerge. Alongside financial potentates concluding transactions with the Duchy’s government worth millions, the new situation also gave rise to their imitators operating on a smaller scale – farmers of municipal taxes, or innkeepers in towns and villages. There was therefore no shortage of groups managing to adapt to the new economic conditions, and even exploit them for their own benefit. Assumptions about the collapse of landed estates need to be toned down, by showing how a process of reshuffling of fortunes was taking place at the time, according to which former owners were replaced by new ones. The picture of universal destitution in the Duchy needs to be modified with images of enterprising, resourceful businessmen and merchants who were able, often quite ruthlessly, to take advantage of new opportunities. Such images are almost entirely overlooked by diaries and memoirs of the period, most of which were written by representatives of the aristocracy or szlachta.28 Economic historians note that, despite the difficulties arising from the need to adjust to new circumstances, the years 1807 to 1812 were a time of gradual stabilization which, alongside the unquestioned sacrifices made by many groups in the Duchy of Warsaw, enabled the state to bear the burdens of armament and war. They also underline the significance for economic life of the social transformations then taking place, and the growing accumulation of capital thanks to profits made from supplying the army, from financial transactions or from speculation on a grand scale. Although this was certainly not a period of any great economic take-off, these transformations

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made possible the economic acceleration that was to come in subsequent decades. Frederick Augustus is alleged to have stated melancholically that in the Duchy ‘soldiers are born from under the soil, even fortresses shoot up – it’s a shame money doesn’t wish to be born!’ Bearing in mind the scale of the difficulties with which the state had to deal, it is important to emphasize that from the financial point of view, it was not a total wasteland.

7

Tradition and Change in the Social Life of the Duchy of Warsaw

The prospects for the Duchy and its inhabitants seemed promising: ‘All social classes will enjoy equal rights, equal freedoms,’ Feliks Łubieński assured his compatriots in a proclamation of 28 July 1807. The president of the General Directorate of the Ruling Commission praised the merits of the new political system, softening references to the revolutionary principle of legal equality by appealing to the memory, dear to the szlachta, of prosperity under good rulers. Enthusiasts of the Napoleonic system did not see its benefits in terms of restoring former magnificence. Advocates of social change cherished the belief, like Hugo Kołłątaj, that any obstacles delaying the creation of a modern society ‘had vanished before the keen intellect’ of Napoleon. Peasant emancipation and inclusion of all inhabitants within one uniform system of law satisfied feelings of social justice. It extended to formerly excluded groups the principle of equality before the law, once described by Stanisław Węgrzecki, mayor of Warsaw and former collaborator of Kołłątaj, as ‘the most important privilege granted to humanity’. According to a leading representative of the former Jacobins, Józef Kalasanty Szaniawski, ‘the equal protection and absolute rule of law has been extended to all classes of our compatriots; all have been made people – a benumbed part of our nation, its true foundation, has been restored to life’. New laws increased opportunities for mobilizing social energy, suppressed until then by feudal restrictions. They encouraged expectations of economic change. Many former republicans recognized that thanks to the Napoleonic system a single nation had arisen to replace former class divisions.1 According to the census of 1810, the decided majority of the 4,334,000 inhabitants of the Duchy of Warsaw were ethnic Poles. The Jewish population amounted to 7 per cent, which would appear to be an underestimation. The percentage of Germans was about 6 per cent, while the Lithuanian and Ruthenian communities made up approximately 4 per cent of the whole. The overwhelming majority of the population were Roman Catholics. Among the remaining religious and confessional groups, the most prominent, apart from Jews, were Lutherans (8.3 per cent). In a country that was overwhelmingly rural, the greatest concentrations of urban population, amounting to 18.6 per cent of the whole, were located in the Warsaw, Poznań and Bydgoszcz Departments. In these departments the urban population was 24 to 25.5 per cent. The census of 1810 contains information relating to the occupational structure of the population. Among the nineteen identified categories, the most numerous

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were ‘peasant-farmers’ (about 69 per cent). To people supporting themselves from agriculture and deriving income from the organization of agricultural work, or carrying out functions associated with control over land, we should also add landowners, leaseholders, estate managers, or Jewish leaseholders of services provided to peasants by landowners (such as tariffs on the use of roads, bridges, etc.). People whose livelihood was tied to the countryside and agriculture therefore made up more than 83 per cent of the Duchy’s population. Among the remaining occupational groups, a significant number, about 9 per cent of the population, were craftsmen or employed in the alcohol trade: tavern keepers, distillers and brewers (2.1 per cent). Clergy were estimated at 0.6 per cent, and officials, teachers and representatives of the liberal professions at 1.1 per cent. If we include those employed in health services – doctors, surgeons, obstetricians, pharmacists and barber-surgeons – the group forming the embryo of the nineteenth-century ‘intellectual class’ amounted to approximately 2 per cent. People qualifying for the category ‘without permanent means of support’, such as those supported by charities, beggars, prostitutes, prisoners, and so on, made up a similar percentage.2 Occupational boundaries, as cited in tables prepared by the administration in 1810, were not precisely defined. The fact that the decided majority of the population still supported itself directly or indirectly from agriculture indicates, however, that several years after the introduction of Napoleonic legislation into parts of the Polish lands, the scale of change, on which its enthusiasts reckoned, was limited. Not without reason prefect Antoni Gliszczyński suggested that the state should support the development of a ‘middle estate’, which would contribute to the country’s economic development and stabilize its political system.3 Evaluating the real significance of the social changes then taking place was problematic not only for contemporaries, but also for historians enjoying the comfort of hindsight. Certain historians, such as Marceli Handelsman, claimed that the constitution introduced a division into two ‘estates’, that is, into property owners endowed with political rights and the mass of the population possessing no property and deprived of such rights, while at the same time it ‘sanctioned noble privileges thereby guaranteeing the szlachta exclusive participation in the Senate and giving it a majority in the lower house’. Social estates were formally abolished, but detailed legal regulations as well as the practice of discharging power favoured a continuation of the dominant role of the szlachta. Others have argued that despite the abolition of serfdom, introduction of legal equality and tying of electoral rights to requirements of property and capital, the new legal principles did nothing to alter the centuries-old feudal system. The principle of equality before the law was inscribed in the constitution, yet the Duchy retained in effect the division into estates: noble, clerical, rural and town.4 The issue deserves wider investigation. Preparatory work would require the formulation of precise definitions appropriate to Polish conditions at the turn of the eighteenth century of concepts such as ‘feudalism’ and ‘estate’. It should also be based on research into the structures of power at the lowest levels, including the real extent of the powers of landowners and the functions of the commune head [wójt] and rural councils. Only in this way would it be possible to gain a more accurate picture of the influence of Napoleonic legal and structural models on the society of the Duchy. Without making

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any categorical assessments, it is worth emphasizing once again that the constitution officially conferred by the emperor introduced a system of law and justice that was uniform across all social strata. Social and legal transformations were supported by the Napoleonic Code. On the level of concrete rules and procedures affecting, for instance, such things as the regulation of title deeds, the signing of contracts, the principles governing turnover of trade, etc., the Code undoubtedly encouraged the collapse of former class ties and a transformation in the consciousness of specific social groups. Irrespective of political practice, which safeguarded the position of the szlachta in society, the political system of the Duchy was a fulfilment of the ideological dreams of such Enlightenment reformers as Staszic or Kołłątaj, maintaining, in the words of Joachim Lelewel, ‘merely the outward appearance of estates’. The assessment of this contemporary historian, who was also an active participant in the politics of the 1820s and 1830s, no doubt reflects the views of former republicans.5 These emerged from a style of political thinking inspired by the Enlightenment and French Revolution, and placed special emphasis on reforms guaranteeing recognition of the rights of man. Seen from this perspective, the abolition of serfdom and securing of legal equality for peasants could be regarded by former members and sympathizers of the Society of Polish Republicans as an entirely satisfactory achievement. Even if the radical – at least for Polish conditions – tone of the constitution was blunted by later legislation of lesser importance, the introduction of Napoleonic principles nevertheless stimulated changes in social life. Some changes were already happening under Prussian rule, to mention only the redistribution of landed property as a result of the seizure of Church lands or leases of former crown lands. Legal and structural changes, together with the political and economic situation after 1807, meant that areas where the new might clash with tradition distinctly widened. In this predominantly agricultural society, the place where incentives stimulating change had to interact with the structures, mechanisms and customs typical of the longue durée in social life was above all the countryside. In a European climate rocked by war, the countryside appeared to some people as the only peaceful haven, the mainstay of primordial values ingrained in rural inhabitants living in harmony with nature. When seen at close quarters, however, the countryside as a place where escapist yearnings might be fulfilled lost some of its charm. The simplicity of rural life, praised in sentimental verse, had its negative side. The situation and living conditions of peasants aroused the sympathy of many. More penetrating observers were concerned about peasants’ low level of identification with national sentiments and aspirations. It was hard to imagine things otherwise, argued Surowiecki, until the peasant gained ownership of the land he cultivated: ‘Either he will drag himself constantly from settlement to settlement in search of his miserable daily bread and [the gratification of] his animal needs, or … he will waste away in hunger and privation for generations to come.’6 Many peasants did indeed understand the abolition of serfdom under Article 4 of the Duchy’s constitution to mean, in addition, the bestowal on them of ownership of the land they worked. In 1807 news of it aroused concern in the provinces. In some regions, peasants refused to perform the corvée or began to chop down seigneurial forests. Despite the December decree, which resolved the question of land ownership

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more specifically in favour of the szlachta, cases of peasants’ refusal to carry out their obligations continued into the following year. Some cases were no doubt inspired by rumours about the Council of State debate of a bill to recognize peasants living on state lands as owners of the ground they cultivated. Resolution of the matter was deferred, probably because Łubieński feared the effect it might have on the mood of peasants living on private estates. Landlords, however, were forbidden to increase peasants’ existing obligations, tributes and payments, though in subsequent years peasants on state lands complained of extensions to the corvée imposed by leaseholders.7 The new system introduced principles that were unusually important to the peasantry: personal freedom and equality before the law. The December decree weakened, however, the peasants’ position in relations with landowners, who acquired title deeds in accordance with the new legal system. Relations between landlords and peasants were to depend on voluntary agreements. In reality, however, this meant the retention of former peasant obligations – the corvée, tributes, rents and observation of the old monopoly on alcohol sales guaranteed to the szlachta. According to some researchers, the situation of peasants in the Duchy worsened. As a consequence of the principle of legal equality, while their previous obligations were retained, all responsibilities towards the state were also extended to them. In addition, peasants were guaranteed only one year’s right to remain on their holdings from the day the December decree came into force. The latter gave landowners the opportunity to evict peasants from their land. It seems, however, that during the time of the Duchy it was still rarely exploited. A more serious problem for the nobility was the shortage of hands to complete the agricultural work. They therefore tried to restrict the number of peasants leaving villages. True, the law guaranteed peasants the right to personal freedom, but the landlord had legal instruments at his disposal enabling him to prevent a population drain from his own estate. In accordance with the instructions of the Council of State, before leaving their village, peasants had to inform the owner of their decision as well as obtain the agreement of the local commune or department authorities, if planned resettlement was outside the boundaries of the commune [gmina]. Considering that the function of commune head [wójt] was entrusted as a rule to the proprietor of the village, it was not hard to restrict peasant migration by administrative means. Peasant mobility was certainly limited by a mentality formed over centuries – by traditionalism and powerful ties to the immediate environment and, arising from these, unwillingness to change the place of residence or way of life, or by ordinary fear of the unknown. At the same time, such inertia could be overcome by prospects of an improved life gained from better terms offered by the proprietor of another village, or from acquiring work in towns. The scale of migration between individual settlements is difficult to gauge. It could have been considerable, since in some districts the peasant population was reduced by half. Especially affected were areas ravaged by war where villages were abandoned en masse. The relocation of the rural population to towns acquired huge proportions, although it may have diminished after a while due to the small number of large urban centres able to absorb substantial numbers of new arrivals, or – given the shortage of dynamic industries – to the still insufficient need for new workers in urban factories and workshops. It was not a particularly absorbent

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employment market. Thousands of displaced peasants or ‘loose people’ [ludzie luźni] wandered across the country in search of a livelihood. Among them were not only peasants who had left their villages, but also a large group of deserters and men evading conscription. The composition of the rural population at the time of the Duchy did not undergo any far-reaching changes when compared to the pre-partition period. At the top of the local hierarchy sat those peasants who possessed their own farms. Their wealth and profits depended on the size of farm and quality of cultivated land. In one of the administrative districts of Wielkopolska, the annual takings of the richest peasants were estimated to be 887 zlotys. After deducting the cost of supporting a family and several labourers, as well as eight horses or bulls, the net profit amounted to … 18 zlotys and 15 groshies. Income from even the richest farms gave peasant families little more than a moderately decent living. Below them, came peasants settled on small strips of land as well as those who did not possess their own holdings. According to information compiled in 1810 for the seven original departments of the Duchy, peasants having no land of their own made up almost 43 per cent of the total rural population. Hardships affecting the countryside – evictions from land, abandonment of villages, high conscription rates and wartime destruction – led to ever greater economic stratification between separate groups of peasants. An indication of this could be the presence in the 1810 statistics of a category defined as ‘without definite means of support’, that is, supported largely by charity. Across the seven departments, the total number reached some 31,000 people.8 The countryside was the natural environment not only of ‘hardworking farmers’. The szlachta also regarded it as its own space. The ‘seclusion of a small village’, which the poet Kajetan Koźmian welcomed as a ‘sweet refuge’ from the cataclysms of war and political upheavals, was likewise for many others a sanctuary where patriotism and civic attitudes had survived the collapse of the Commonwealth. The poet’s conviction that genuine public virtues were forged in the community of citizens possessing landed property and bound to the local populace by family and neighbourly ties reflects the view of a substantial portion of the szlachta.9 It was above all in provincial manors that disinterested self-sacrifice for the fatherland and readiness to bear its cost ‘in blood, life and possessions’ would continue to blossom. Among the noble milieu settled in the countryside, the traditional lifestyle, mentality and customs also survived, including the highly valued hospitality and simplicity – which is not to say these qualities were cultivated everywhere. The rhythm of life was dictated above all by the seasons, while daily routines were determined by farming activities, after which time was found for traditional pastimes such as hunting, social gatherings, uproarious name-day parties, and so on. The noble manor usually housed a family of two or three generations. Apart from the family itself, there would be a permanent group of residents consisting of poorer relatives, tutors or governesses, clerics, the master’s old friends or comrades-in-arms, who often deposited their savings in his hands. An exemplary noble homestead appears in Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz’s novel The Two Lords Sieciech [Dwaj panowie Sieciechowie, 1815] written towards the end of the Duchy’s existence. A newly arrived guest is welcomed with old Polish hospitality, received with ‘homemade vodka and gingerbread’, mead

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and a simple but wholesome meal, and regaled with family chronicles and garrulous tales from the past. In many contemporary literary works or memoirs, the simplicity of the customs of the middling provincial szlachta is distinctly contrasted with corrupt or affected ‘better’ society that possessed aristocratic connections and passed its time in the ‘great world’ of the capital. Its representatives are portrayed as fashion-conscious, invariably indebted prodigals whose chief occupations are cards and drunken revelry and who eagerly demonstrate the superiority they feel towards their honest provincial neighbours. A centre combining both social spheres was the residence of the Czartoryski family at Puławy located in the part of the Austrian Partition annexed by the Duchy in 1809. Several score residents lived in the palace at any one time, including guests as well as young people from the homes of former clients of the Czartoryskis, while the annual cost of food, firewood and lighting amounted to approximately 800,000 zlotys. The lifestyle at Puławy had little in common with the daily existence of the average manor. Entertainments included costumed theatrical performances or medieval jousting tournaments more in keeping with the Gothic and Sentimental tastes of contemporary European aristocrats, as well as traditional party games, cards or ‘evening dances’.10 Puławy, however, was one of the last centres in the Duchy reminiscent of the former magnate courts. After the demise of the Commonwealth, the residences of powerful magnates were rarely able to guarantee employment to local szlachta, educate its youth or provide career opportunities. With regard to economic status, the szlachta was a mixed community. The highest position in the hierarchy of property ownership and prestige was occupied by the great landowners. A little lower down were proprietors of large farms or their tenants. Between 10 and 20 per cent of szlachta living in the countryside, according to data from 1830 – the structure of the noble population had thus far not undergone fundamental change – found employment as officials in the administration of large landed estates or large farms. Almost half of the entire noble community consisted of szlachta possessing only part of a village too small to be regarded as an independent manorial estate, or land whose acreage approximated to that of peasant farms. Many young men from this milieu, who had no chance of acquiring their own patch of land, sought employment in towns or entered army service in search of a livelihood. Despite their different levels of income and living standards, which distinguished owners of one or more hamlets from minor szlachta, these groups formed a single, though diversified social class. Within this class it was possible to cross its internal divisions. An indebted landowner could be forced to seek his daily bread as the tenant of one of his more economically successful or fortunate neighbours. A thrifty leaseholder was able to purchase his own village with money he had saved, while a deserving official had the opportunity to secure a tenancy on his employer’s estate. In order to complete the picture of such redistribution of property in the countryside, we should add that the noble class was no longer the only owner of landed estates. With the liquidation of the nobility’s monopoly on landownership under the Duchy’s new constitution, there appeared representatives – not many for the time being – of wealthy townsmen, who bought up property as a means of investing their capital and expanding their financial interests, or because they believed that real social prestige

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was still linked to possessing a country manor. In this way they acquired a specific status as owners of former noble lands, entitled to enforce the corvée and other peasant obligations, although they were not allowed to participate in local sejmiki.11 A community uniting town and countryside was the clergy. The vast majority were Roman Catholic including those in monastic orders – approximately 3,700 in about 290 monasteries and convents (including female ones). In strongly Catholic Poland, the clergy had enjoyed enormous prestige for centuries, despite periodic anticlericalism among the nobility arising from its unwillingness to bear the cost of various services to the Church and attempts to increase the Church’s financial obligations to the state. Before the partitions, bishops had sat in the Senate, while in gaps between the death of a king and the election of his successor, the Polish primate would act as interrex. The Church’s position in the state and the importance of religion in the lives of the faithful were not seriously weakened by the Enlightenment – not least because many of its ideas filtered into Poland through the mediation of clerics, who formed a crucial group in the Polish intellectual elite. Social reception of the priesthood was not only influenced by its pastoral activities; its role in education, especially that of the Jesuits (until their suppression in 1773) and Piarists, was also highly respected.12 In the Duchy of Warsaw, the social prestige of the clergy as a group underwent no significant change. Catholicism acquired the status of state religion, while the freedom of other confessions was guaranteed. Bishops, as before the partitions, sat in the Senate; priests could now be representatives in the Chamber of Envoys (in 1809 there were four, in 1811 fourteen). Local sejmiki also entrusted priests with the function of justices of the peace (18 of the 192 elected in 1812). Many found employment in schools, and even in the highest offices of state. The clergy’s material situation, however, deteriorated significantly. After the partitions, diocesan lands were apportioned according to new boundaries, which meant that lands that had been endowments before the partitions of many monasteries and parishes now found themselves within a different jurisdiction, thus impeding collection of the sums due. In the Prussian and Austrian partitions, a large proportion of Church lands became state property in exchange for salaries paid to clergymen. The Duchy’s authorities took over this commitment. In 1809 annual payments of this kind were estimated to be more than four million zlotys, which was regarded in Church circles as too little in relation to the value of the possessions they had lost. Given the poor state of the Duchy’s finances, payments were considerably delayed, which often drastically exacerbated the economic situation of small monastic communities or priests in small parishes. This sometimes led to a slackening of Church discipline: a concern for both ecclesiastical and lay authorities was the increased number of monks drifting around the country as vagabonds, having abandoned their communities without permission from their superiors. Many parishes and monastic institutions incurred losses during military operations, or because their buildings were occupied as barracks and field hospitals. High liabilities to support the army were similarly burdensome, as is demonstrated by the land belonging to the Carmelite Monastery outside Kraków. During 1812–13 the income derived from this land by the community amounted to approximately 4,000 zlotys, of which more than 1,700 zlotys were consumed by the cost of servicing the army.13

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The urban population lived in both private and self-governing towns. In the former, townspeople were obliged to perform work for the proprietor or pay charges, for example, on the use of streets, squares or markets. The financial liabilities of inhabitants of state municipalities were similar, but the takings went to the state. The legal status of the inhabitants of the same town was not uniform. Contrary to the constitution and Napoleonic Code, townsmen proper were deemed to be those, as previously, who owned real estate, a workshop or business within the town boundaries. A proportion of them, who fulfilled the property and educational requirements, acquired voting rights in local commune elections and could expect to be appointed to local government offices. Hired workers, servants or people without permanent employment did not qualify as citizens of towns. In some towns, these people made up from about ten to almost 40 per cent of the inhabitants. The position of town dwellers was the subject of many complaints directed at the authorities. A sense of decline in economic status was not unknown even to inhabitants of large urban centres, as demonstrated by comments made by Kraków’s municipal council in 1813, where the situation of homeowners was described as ‘ultimate poverty’, while it was claimed of artisan craftsmen that ‘they can scarcely support themselves from their low sales, and are selling even their tools and workshops in order to pay public charges’. This image of disaster befalling townspeople may have been exaggerated, but it is not far from the truth, especially in relation to inhabitants of smaller towns. Their financial elites usually consisted of holders of alcohol monopolies, publicans and tavern keepers, mill owners and the more prosperous artisans, who sometimes combined trade in their workshops with farming. The majority of these craftsmen continued to be organized in guilds. Although the introduction of Napoleonic legislation meant they lost many of their prerogatives, the guilds played an important role in urban life. Although increasingly exposed to competition from both Christian and Jewish craftsmen who were not members of guilds, they remained the elite organization for artisans and small manufacturers.14 Jews occupied a special position in the Duchy’s legal system. In accordance with the abolition of social estates as well as any kind of legal restriction with regard to religion by the constitution and Napoleonic Code, Jews like other inhabitants were guaranteed personal freedom, equality before the law, freedom of religion, the right to hold public office and also – on condition they fulfilled the criteria laid down in the constitution – active and passive voting rights. The principle of personal freedom likewise implied freedom of professional activities as well as the right to freedom of movement. These provisions in relation to Jews provoked considerable consternation. The prospect of their settling freely in towns aroused the distinct aversion of Christian townspeople for religious and cultural, but mainly economic, reasons. The Kraków Municipal Council, for example, often discussed initiatives aimed at limiting competition from Jewish craftsmen and merchants. Visions of the uncontrolled migration of masses of impoverished Jews numbering many thousands also disturbed the government, as did the need to settle the question of Jews exercising their citizen rights. The impulse to alter the legal regulations in this area came from outside. In March 1808 Napoleon issued a decree restricting the rights guaranteed to Jews in Alsace for ten years. Invoking this precedent, Łubieński explained to the king the need to introduce an analogous solution,

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to be withdrawn if Jews ‘changed their customs during this time’. In his opinion, this would enable recognition of their citizen rights to be postponed. Jews, so he claimed, had so far ‘not been part of society’ because of their religious and cultural separateness. In 1808 Frederick Augustus issued a decree suspending their political rights for ten years. The king envisaged, however, the possibility of making exceptions for ‘particular individuals of this confession’ if they fulfilled the conditions set out ‘in the separate instruction’. No one hurried to compile the principles underlying these conditions. Their absence was a convenient argument enabling petitions lodged by representatives of the Jewish financial elite, asking for their citizenship to be recognized, to be ignored. The suspension of citizen rights for Jews was accompanied by directives intended to limit the influx of Jews into towns and, in cases where they were already settled, to create ghettos. A decree issued by the king in 1809 forbade Jews to live on Warsaw’s main streets because ‘lack of cleanliness, disorder and lawlessness are the natural result of an excessive concentration of [Jews] in one small district’. However, it did allow Jews who could understand Polish, German or French, who sent their children to state schools and used ‘none of the external signs that distinguish Orthodox Jews from other inhabitants’, to live on these streets. Similar directives were issued for other urban centres. The motives given in the directive were not simply a pretext – in many contemporary accounts, the unpleasant impression made on their authors by the sight of living conditions in areas intensively settled by the Jewish poor is striking. A deciding factor in shaping policy towards Jews was, however, the fact that the Duchy’s ruling elite, like most contemporary European elites, was influenced by the idea of the centralized state and top-down modernization of society. Neither the king in Dresden, nor his ministers in Warsaw, showed much sympathy for the cultural difference of a section of the country’s population – at least not the majority – because Poniatowski did request the Council of State to postpone the eviction of Jews from the main streets of the capital. There is no evidence that Poniatowski’s request was granted, although it may have slightly delayed the implementation of the procedure. The Jewish population was also bound by special taxes and fees introduced already under Prussian rule, for example, on the permission to marry. In addition, the ban on Jews acquiring landed property was upheld. In discussions in the Council of State, the argument that indebted estates could become objects of speculation recurred again and again. Doubts about the legality of the ruling, which went against the Napoleonic Code, were resolved by allowing the administrative authorities to depart from the Code’s strict application in individual cases. Officially, Jews were subject to the general obligation to perform military service. In reality, however, they were rarely called up. In some cases, they simply provided substitutes. The suitability of Jews for military service was judged to be low. It aroused little enthusiasm among the majority of Jews, since it required them to break particular religious and customary norms. In 1811 representatives of the Jewish community petitioned the king to release Jews from military service until such time as their citizen rights were restored. A decree of January 1812 released them from the obligation in exchange for an annual payment of 700,000 zlotys. There is evidence to suggest that similar practices were unofficially applied earlier: in September 1809, the Kraków

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kahal ‘offered’ the city authorities a sum of 12,000 zlotys in change for the exemption of local Jews from conscription.15 Among the Duchy’s ruling elite, discussion continued on a plan for the general ‘reform’ of the Jews, which was to reduce their cultural and religious separateness and speed up their ‘becoming citizens’. A similar debate had elicited considerable reaction during the Four Years Sejm. Twenty years later, it returned with renewed vigour, intensified by the belief that recognizing Jews’ political rights would provoke the consternation of many electors, while allowing them to enjoy full citizen rights would cause far-reaching changes in the structure of the ownership of landed estates. According to Łubieński, universality of citizen rights did not necessarily yet follow from the principle of equality, because only those subjects who recognized the Duchy – and more generally Poland – as their fatherland were entitled to them. He therefore stipulated that for the time being, only Jews who had contributed services to the country should be granted citizen rights. Doubts expressed in the Council of State about the loyalty of Jews were not exceptional in Europe at that time. The problem of Jewish loyalty to the state and its system of law, or of limits to Jewish self-governance, were also being monitored by the authorities in France. The Duchy’s ministers also believed that possessing full citizen rights was linked to endorsing the cultural values of the European Enlightenment. Therefore, conferring them on Jews would follow only once they made changes to their customs, dress and language, and recognized the primacy of the authority of the state over that of their own communities. The debate about ‘civilizing’ the Jews therefore took place within the wider contexts of the Polish and European Enlightenment. Among the actions proposed was a change to the professional profile of parts of the Jewish population. This was the aim of the decree of October 1812 forewarning of the introduction of a ban from 1814 on the production and retailing of alcohol by Jews. The possibility, suggested by many publicists, of directing them towards ‘agricultural employment’ was considered. The introduction of compulsory education for Jewish children in state schools was also discussed. The idea of obligatory study in secular institutions was in keeping to some extent with the views of the Jewish intellectual and financial elite influenced by the Haskalah, the movement of Jewish advocates of European Enlightenment. In these circles, it was believed that religious reform, secular education and a change in habits would lead to removal of the legal and cultural barriers separating Jews from the social environment surrounding them. Appealing to such watchwords, these maskalim were nevertheless a small group: a list of ‘Warsaw’s enlightened Israelite families’ compiled in 1816 by distinguished representatives of Warsaw’s Jewry contained between ten and twenty names. Advocates of assimilation, who embodied the Duchy rulers’ notion of the Jewish citizen, had little influence on the Jewish masses. They also remained in harsh conflict with Hasidism as well as with the supporters of rabbinical Judaism, whose authority dominated in the Jewish selfgoverning communities.16 It is difficult to assess the effectiveness of the authorities’ attempts to increase state control over inhabitants who followed the Mosaic faith. It would seem, as was the case of the former Prussian authorities, that control was not especially thorough. A large proportion of the Council of State’s directives affecting Jews remained on

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paper. Their wealthiest representatives procured the consent of the authorities to settle outside the excluded streets or to acquire real estate in towns. As far as the Jewish poor were concerned, directives relating to police controls over the movement of populations did nothing to curb the migration of numerous groups around the country. Michał Baczkowski’s research likewise concludes that the city authorities in Kraków had little influence over the local kahal. The situation was most likely the same in other cities. It would seem, however, that certain acts and decrees intended to partially restrict the economic activity of Jews were not rigorously enforced for fear of disrupting the flow of goods and money. The role played by Jews in this area was appreciated by the Duchy’s economists, including Surowiecki, who claimed that in a country affected by war and by decline in handicrafts and Christian trade, ‘Poland owes the rescue of trade and handicrafts almost everywhere to the Jews alone.’ He recognized at the same time that Jews could play an enormous role in their further development, so long as the government helped them to shed their ‘defects’. An analogous assessment of Jews’ contribution to economic life was made by Staszic, who saw in their future ‘reform’ a chance to stimulate the development of the Duchy’s towns, if only the government would stop them ‘retailing beverages’ and direct their activities towards handicrafts.17 The legal restrictions imposed on the Jewish population by the Duchy authorities sometimes provoked protests from representatives of affluent and educated Jewish groups, because they caused difficulties for some – though not all – Jewish merchants and craftsmen in carrying out their economic activities. It is worth noting that the government often showed restraint when confronted by demands from large sections of townspeople wishing to restrict competition from Jewish businesses. According to Baczkowski, civil servants of the Kraków Department sometimes blocked initiatives from the municipal council specifically attacking the interests of Jewish merchants and tradesmen. Irrespective of legal restrictions or the hostile attitude of town authorities, some Jews managed to adapt well to existing conditions in the Duchy. From research on the economic situation in the Kalisz Department, it emerges that some of the wealthiest inhabitants of its regional towns, apart from Christian merchants, tavern keepers and dispensing chemists, were increasingly representatives of the local Jewish financial elite, deriving profits from leasing alcohol monopolies in towns or monopolies on salt. The former income source especially was a frequent object of rivalry between Polish and Jewish townsmen. The arbiter in disputes would be the prefect, or even the Minister of Internal Affairs. In settling a complaint from citizens of Piotrków against their Jewish competitors, the minister explained that, as a general principle, the constitution made ‘no distinction between inhabitants of any religion whatsoever’ with regard to the way in which they earned their living. This episode illustrates the dilemma with which the Duchy authorities were faced in similar situations: averse to the wide leasing by landowners to Jews of rights to alcohol production and retail, they realized nevertheless that such restrictions were contrary to the principle of equality before the law. Furthermore, instructions relating to alcohol or salt monopolies distinctly required that preference should be given to candidates offering the highest rates to the Treasury, and this requirement was usually fulfilled by Jews. The expanding

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role of Jewish businessmen in the economic life of both large and small towns meant that they became more and more visible, as owners or tenants of large townhouses located on market squares or main streets. This shows that at the time of the Duchy, despite the suspension of citizen rights, the most affluent Jews succeeded in breaking down previously existing social barriers.18 At the same time, however, representatives of this group were separated by an ever-increasing distance from the dominant group of poor Jews who supported themselves from small-scale trade or handicrafts. Profits from the lease of alcohol distribution and sales – the ‘Duchy’s national industry’, according to Henryk Grossman – undoubtedly boosted the position of the new urban elite. For enterprising individuals with sufficient capital at their disposal, and therefore able to take risks, the greatest opportunities for social advancement were created by wars and the constant reconstruction of the Polish army. The influx of hundreds of thousands of people and horses, or the presence of tens of thousands of soldiers permanently stationed in the country, scores of garrisons and field hospitals, created an increased demand for foodstuffs, timber, canvas, woollen cloth, leather, alcohol, medicines, uniforms, footwear, and so on. A ready market for goods and huge volume of orders created opportunities for quick profits. This was the basis for the meteoric careers of the great contractors – able to realize the orders of the army and civil service. Some came from Christian merchant families or szlachta who had settled in towns. In the intense competition for government contracts, however, both groups were forced to give way to Jewish merchants and entrepreneurs who had been trading for years and enjoyed wide contacts. Their ability to acquire information and quickly pass it on was one of the universally acknowledged trump cards of Polish Jews: ‘The speed, with which they communicate to one another events worthy of note, is remarkable. … Nothing escapes these semaphores …,’ as one female diarist observed. It was through them that news of the burning of Moscow or the death of Prince Józef at the Battle of Leipzig first reached Warsaw. The decisive factors, however, were capital and experience of conducting similar activities on a grand scale. One precursor was Szmul Zbytkower, general contractor to Russian troops stationed in the Commonwealth, who later supplied Kościuszko’s army and later still the Prussian army. His military contracts after 1795 also laid the foundations for his successors: the Bergsons, Epsteins, Fraenkels and Kronenbergs. Following the invasion by the Grande Armée, the majority immediately established working partnerships with the French commissioners responsible for provisions, obtaining lucrative contracts, and often making a profit at the same time on the increased market price of more sought-after articles. After the signing of the Tilsit peace treaty, the government was prompted to make further use of contractors by the requirements of the army and the need to guarantee the organization of provisions on a large scale. The Treasury’s empty coffers gave suppliers the upper hand in negotiations with the government, facilitating contracts on terms profitable to themselves. However, contractors also took considerable risks linked to delays in government payment of the agreed sums – in the third quarter of 1808 alone, government arrears in relation to them amounted to 4.8 million zlotys, while suppliers’ grievances against the Treasury became an almost permanent fixture of Council of State debates. In their disputes with the government, contractors sometimes

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resorted to direct pressure. In spring 1811, because of the backlog in payments, they even threatened to discontinue food supplies to the army. The risk, albeit substantial, was not so great as to scare away the willing, who had appropriate financial and organizational possibilities at their disposal. The majority of contractors invested their profits in the production of articles most sought after by the army, in the granting of loans, in acting as financial middlemen or in the profitable leasing of state monopolies. Another lucrative business was farming the tax on kosher meat. The leaseholder concluded a contract with the Treasury administration, on the strength of which he collected the tax on its behalf, charging high fees in exchange. He would then organize a whole network of sub-lessees and agents which usually included influential personalities from the kahal oligarchy, which guaranteed him a wide range of possibilities for chasing debtors.19 However, the basis of profits made by ‘capitalists’ [kapitaliści], as they were already called in those days, was the income derived from supplying the army, as well as from the farming of salt and alcohol monopolies. The accumulating fortunes of erstwhile tycoons rested upon such foundations. One of the most interesting figures among them was Judyta Jakubowiczowa. Zbytkower’s widow and inheritor of part of his fortune, she came from a family of Enlightened Jews from Frankfurt an der Oder. Once a frequenter of Stanisław August Poniatowski’s learned Thursday dinners, she ran her own bank under the Duchy and transacted deals with the Council of State for the supply of foodstuffs, animal fodder and fuel – on terms extremely disadvantageous to the government. In 1808 she earned a name for herself by fulfilling a record transaction in three months for the supply of corn and fodder together worth 1.1 million zlotys. Judyta Jakubowiczowa was an unusual woman, but not exceptional. Several other women were engaged in supplying the army, most often from the families of important Jewish merchants or money changers. The appearance of women in this kind of role may seem surprising, considering the legal restrictions placed on their ownership of property by the Napoleonic Code. It would seem this phenomenon confirms the view of some historians that legal norms imposed by the state on the Jewish community had little serious effect. Contractors sometimes joined forces, creating joint ventures in order to fulfil larger contracts. For example, Jakubowiczowa’s frequent business partners in deals involving cattle or farming the salt monopoly and tax on kosher meat were Berek BergsohnSonnenberg, Zbytkower’s son from his first marriage, and her son-in-law Samuel Fraenkel. Other influential tycoons making fortunes from trade, government contracts and running their own money-changing banks were Jakub Epstein, a former officer in Kościuszko’s army; Samuel Kronenberg, influential financier; and Salomon Neumark and his son Ignacy, who since Prussian times had been running a lucrative trade in timber. The growing fortunes of contractors and financiers are worth noting not only from the economic but also from the social point of view. They were not a large group. In Warsaw, where the most lucrative contracts were signed, several score contractors were operating, while across the whole Duchy – there were probably several hundred, among them also Christians. However, they were certainly influential. Despite the constraints on Jews acquiring land, wealthy financiers increasingly became property

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owners or landed leaseholders, either directly or through proxies. They were also not bound by the restrictions introduced in Warsaw on where Jews could settle. Similarly to representatives of so-called ‘useful’ professions, such as doctors, contractors acquired the right to settle on the main streets of towns. This affected not only individuals who assimilated, as stipulated by the decree of 1809, along with their families to their surroundings in terms of dress and language. Bergsohn-Sonnenberg, for example, a supporter of Hasidism, did not abandon his former habits. Although he retained his traditional attire and customs, he acquired from the king the privilege of living in the city centre. Jews who converted to Christianity did not have to seek such permission. The decision to convert, irrespective of religious motives – which are difficult to discount a priori – certainly made it easier to function outside the Jewish community, since it brought with it recognition of citizen rights, and also facilitated entry into assemblies reserved for Christian townsmen, as in the case of Fraenkel, who shortly after his baptism became a member of Warsaw’s merchant confraternity. Opting for assimilation increased the chances of establishing informal contacts with influential people. It is highly likely that it was for precisely this reason that the godfather of the younger son of Neumark, one of the largest suppliers to the army, was none other than Prince Józef Poniatowski.20 The careers of such contractors were made possible by the specific conditions created by the internal and external position of the state, which happened to favour the activities of particular Jewish merchants and financiers. An extraordinary situation developed whereby certain Jews, despite the suspension of citizen rights and various other legal restrictions, became indispensable to the realization of the state’s fundamental aims. Their success no doubt contributed to the weakening of barriers caused by class and religious traditions. Their careers could be seen as examples of amalgamation processes then taking place. Some Jews were gradually breaking away from their traditional environment. This touched not only the professional sphere. Wealthy contractors and financiers operated more and more frequently on the borderlines between the Jewish and Christian communities also on the personal level. Such contacts were still not especially close. In subsequent decades, their children and grandchildren would become more fully assimilated into their Polish surroundings. The specific nature of the social and cultural changes affecting contractors and financiers at the time of the Duchy also depended on the fact that they did not simply merge into the previously existing urban elite, but rather created it anew. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the ranks of former town patricians had significantly dwindled. Of the fifty-six names of Warsaw merchants, bankers and factory owners recorded in listings during the final ten to twenty years of the Commonwealth, only thirty-two were among the richest townsmen in 1806–10. The remainder had left the country following the Third Partition in search of more favourable business conditions. Many of those who stayed lost part of their fortune as a result of wars or the collapse of many Warsaw banks in 1793. They were replaced in the hierarchy by those who had adapted better to conducting economic activity in conditions after the Third Partition. We know very little about them. They left no diaries or family archives. Some, like the heirs of Zbytkower or Epstein, had been connected with Warsaw previously. Others were newcomers from outside, from families for whom wealth and influence were as

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yet an unfamiliar experience. A typical example is Samuel Fraenkel, who arrived in the Polish lands in 1799 as a representative of the owner of one of Berlin’s commercial and financial firms. Neumark’s career began in similar fashion. In contrast to the former commercial elite, the business style of contractors at the time of the Duchy was marked by greater dynamism, operational freedom and investment in a variety of areas. It was these things, along with the capital essential to begin activities in the first place, that were the foundations of the success of the ambitious nouveau riche. The fortunes amassed by them, however, were not unduly extravagant. The fortunes of the five largest Warsaw bankers before 1793 are estimated to have amounted to 179–189 million zlotys. Their business interests stretched across much of Europe. During the Duchy of Warsaw, the fortunes of leading financiers amounted to a few million zlotys, while their commercial and financial activities were generally confined to the former boundaries of the Commonwealth, although they sometimes took in Berlin, Breslau (Wrocław), Königsberg or Vienna.21 Contractors’ spectacular careers were disturbing to many contemporaries, who accused them of profiting from the state’s difficult situation, of fraud and of corrupting officials. The severity of these judgements may have been inspired in part by the origin and specificity of this group. It was different from the old burgher community, whose style had been determined by petty and averagely rich merchants resident in towns for a long time. Great financial careers were above all the privilege of newcomers not long settled in the Polish lands. Contractors were not the only group whose influence – real or imaginary – aroused powerful emotions. Distinctly marginalized in the collective consciousness were the Prussian civil servants who remained in the country following the Peace of Tilsit. This was because of the Duchy’s lack of experienced personnel. The scale of the problem was serious. In the Płock Department alone, several score Prussian civil servants remained at their posts, while a similar number were employed in Warsaw. Initially, they also provided the staff for almost all customs houses. It seems they carried out their duties rather too conscientiously: Davout reported to Napoleon that they were working against the interests of the state in denouncing to Austrian customs officials, instances of illegal trade in cattle from Galicia. This complaint, made by a commander renowned for his severity, against officials combating contraband, indicates the scale of the problems associated with supplying meat to the army. Under pressure from the marshal, who described the Prussians as ‘scoundrels, hypocrites, incompetents, malicious and hostile people’, several officials, including some highranking ones, were dismissed from service. The presence of Prussians in institutions of the revitalizing state aroused the dissatisfaction of Poles: ‘It’s not only that we could not expect them to cooperate with us for the national good, but on the contrary, we should have anticipated that they would always be our latent enemies,’ Skarbek recalled.22 During the Austrian occupation of part of the Duchy’s territory in 1809, some of the Prussians resident in the capital made clear their hopes for a return to the rule of Frederick William III, or they began to cooperate directly with the Austrians. Information concerning the latter also reached the Council of State from the provinces. After the liberation of Warsaw, the issue of Prussian treason provoked such strong

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emotions that the governor, General Amilkar Kosiński, fearing mob law, arrested thirty officials. As a result, some of the accused were expelled from the Duchy, while the rest were given mild sentences or released from the charges against them. Nor did it come to the mass dismissal of Prussian officials, promised by the Council of State. Besides, serious misgivings had been expressed to the council from the beginning by Minister of Justice Łubieński, by Director of Postal Services Ignacy Zajączek, and by various state councillors, convinced that the poor staffing situation in the civil service meant qualified officials could not be dismissed. Only in subsequent years was there a gradual reduction in Prussian personnel employed in both the local and central administrations.23 The spectacular careers of contractors or the over-representation of Prussian civil servants caused antagonism, but they involved only small sections of the Duchy’s Jewish or German populations. Processes of much wider-ranging significance were taking place in social life. The introduction of the Napoleonic system and new forms of state organization activated mechanisms of social change. For instance, the careers of army officers of urban or minor szlachta origin. From the perspective of an impoverished urban or noble homestead, even lower officer rank might be regarded as success. It could also be the first step towards achieving a stable living once the period of service had ended. Officers who resigned their commissions were willingly entrusted with administrative positions. Research shows that of the mayors of twenty-eight towns in the Kalisz Department appointed in 1808–9, at least eight were former soldiers. Such practice might well have applied on a larger scale in other departments. During the initial years of the Duchy’s existence, it also embraced other public offices, as demonstrated by the Council of State’s reaction to a letter from Davout in 1808. Davout interceded on behalf of officers from one of the regiments detached to Spain, who ‘because of their age or ruined health’ were in no condition to leave the Duchy and remained ‘without means to live’. The assembled ministers ‘declared immediately that many positions had been secured by soldiers recommended by the Minister of War and that they were always ready to give them priority, provided the vacant functions suited their skills’. Tables presented at that time to the Council of State indicated that in offices controlled by the Minister of Internal Affairs, former military men occupied eighty-two posts, whereas in institutions subordinate to the minister of finance, as many as 262 were employed ‘in various functions’. Retired officers were clearly given preference moreover as leaseholders of urban properties. A large number of non-commissioned officers hailing from the minor szlachta or peasantry found employment, meanwhile, on lower levels of the civil service.24 Work in the civil service also provided opportunities for advancement in the hierarchy of social prestige. Increased possibilities arose in conjunction with the new model of the state. Its efficient functioning required the existence of large groups of officials on various rungs of the ladder. According to estimates made by opposition envoy Józef Godlewski, their number reached 9,191 in 1811, hence 7,000 more than in the final years of the much larger Commonwealth. The majority, more than 2,500, were employed by the Treasury. The Departments of Justice, Internal Affairs and War also employed a staff of between 1,000 and 2,000 officials. The size must have been astounding to those who remembered the civil service under the Commonwealth.

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After 1807, for the first time in history, the Polish state emerged as a large-scale employer. The prospects proved attractive to many social groups. The highest positions in state institutions usually fell to representatives of the aristocracy or wealthy landowning szlachta. This tendency can be illustrated by the example of the justice system. Around 50 per cent of judges, public prosecutors, court officials and justices of the peace had gained judiciary experience under the Commonwealth. A typical representative of this group would therefore have been a forty- to sixty-year-old nobleman, usually from a respectable local family, whose ancestors had often fulfilled the function of district judge. In this respect, the new system reinforced the existing social hierarchy. Middle- or lower-ranking positions, however, were open to aspiring, well-educated townsmen or minor nobles, whose strategic life choices had been otherwise curtailed along with the collapse of the clientele system in its pre-partition form. In the case of minor nobles, occupying even a modest administrative position could prevent social degradation. Alongside the former judicial authorities linked to established landowning circles, more and more new people began to appear with time. Their typical representative would have been a young, twenty-something-year-old nobleman from a poor or impoverished family, often a graduate of a German university, who treated his education and professional work as his means of support and mainspring to social advancement. Some of the new men would also have gained practical experience in the Prussian administration, which familiarized them with the working methods of modern bureaucracy. At the top levels of administration, Minister Łubieński willingly surrounded himself with such ambitious young men. The sometimes spectacular professional careers of young and not very well connected people, whose attitudes to the state, the law and the functioning of institutions were, according to some, ‘infused with the Prussian spirit’, provoked the hostility of traditionalists. Kajetan Koźmian, poet and state councillor rolled into one, included in one of his poems a critical appraisal of the Duchy’s political system: citizenship virtues were withering away, lust for power and profit reigned supreme, while worthy citizens were being ousted from state institutions by ambitious careerists elevated to high positions thanks to the generosity of ministers.25 Such careers certainly aroused the admiration of many young men of minor szlachta or urban descent. They depended not only on ambition and protectionism, but also on education and familiarity with principles of modern law and administration. In the staffing policy applied under the Duchy, these criteria did not fully replace connections and fortune, yet were gradually becoming more significant. Professional competence was officially recognized as the basic requirement for appointment to the civil service. From 1808, at the prefecture level, examination commissions functioned, scrutinizing the knowledge, ‘experience and proficiency’ of candidates for local government offices. A Higher Examination Commission answerable to the Council of State examined candidates for positions of senior secretaries, ministerial advisors, prefects and sub-prefects. Examiners frequently complained about candidates’ poor preparation, although there was no shortage of those keen to work in the civil service. In contrast to the Commonwealth, when only a portion of officials received salaries, all employees under

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the Duchy were paid. The upper ceiling was set by the salary of the president of the Council of State (30,000 zlotys per annum). The lower limit of officials’ salaries was set by the earnings of the lowest workers in the provinces – a janitor in a prefecture would receive an annual wage of 720 zlotys, but had no reason for complaint since it compared well with the pay received by mayors of small towns, which depended on the wealth of the town and sometimes amounted to only 200 zlotys a year. In practice, the earnings of officials could be even lower, because several workers were often employed in one officially existing post, the appointed salary being split among them. The range of earnings reflected great diversity in the lives of civil servants. The financial situation of employees on lower and middling rungs of the service was not easy. Certain ministers, including Prince Józef, could afford to combine patriotism with lordly gesture and forgo any remuneration for carrying out their duties. Civil servants on middle rungs sometimes followed their example. However, even wellsalaried officials would complain about a lack of correlation between the prestige of their job and the remuneration associated with it. A representative of the group of highest-paid local officials, the prefect of the Bydgoszcz Department, Gliszczyński, approached his superiors with a request for a pay rise, arguing that in order to fulfil his function properly, he was forced to contribute 30,000 (!) zlotys from his own purse.26 The salaries of middle and higher-ranking civil servants did not usually give cause for complaint, which may be indicated by comparing clerical salaries with the wages of soldiers and officers. In both professional groups, a significant disproportion was discernible between the pay of lower-ranking officials and officers, and that of the highest ranks. Similarly noticeable was the high financial status afforded in state service to generals and senior officers. The pay awarded to generals of divisions was higher than the salary received by the president of the Council of State. Brigadiergenerals earned more than state councillors, who occupied third position on the civil payroll. Colonels earned approximately 25 per cent less than prefects, whereas majors were paid sums similar to prefecture councillors. Second lieutenants, whose annual pay was several hundred zlotys more than that of a janitor in the Council of State but less than the salaries of its specialized officials, had decidedly less reason to be satisfied. It is interesting that the wages of an average non-commissioned officer, and even of some soldiers, were higher than the salaries of certain mayors. Maybe such financial discrimination in the administration of towns was one of the reasons why officers and soldiers nursed feelings of superiority towards civilians. Independently of the disproportion between the remuneration of higher- and lower-ranking civil servants, or frequent problems with the regular payment of salaries, these were not sums to be sniffed at. If they were not the main means of subsistence, then they at least provided a permanent income. They were supplemented by various allowances – for fuel, reimbursement for rented accommodation, and so on. The sums were not stunning; however, for individuals from poorer backgrounds, they were significant. The right to retire after twenty-five years’ service must also have been tempting. Entitlement to exemption from military service was an added bonus to working in the civil service. Motives for joining the civil service should not be reduced to exclusively financial questions. Many applicants were driven by the desire to serve their country and

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fellow citizens. Surowiecki attempted to instil exactly this sense of mission in students attending his lectures at the School of Law and Public Administration. A civil servant, in his opinion, was called to ‘banish disease’ from the fatherland, ‘extract the weeds and surround it in the radiance of [your] light’. Such visions of the role played by the civil administration conformed to notions of the modern state, while reflecting at the same time the model of active public citizenship in the Commonwealth tradition. The status of civil servants in the Duchy of Warsaw, however, was already different. A civil servant, once associated above all with a citizen entrusted by his neighbours at a local sejmik to fulfil prestigious unpaid service, had become a state employee receiving a salary in return for his work. His range of duties and legal responsibilities were regulated by codes of practice. These likewise defined procedures for promotion, the principles whereby officials were compensated or punished, and so on.27 The formation of the Duchy’s civil service was accompanied by the professionalization of its personnel. Some observers greeted it as a sign of modernity. Many nobles associated it with old fears of absolutum dominium, the living embodiment of which was the paid royal functionary. Such fears must still have been keen, since years later Fryderyk Skarbek invoked them when referring to the ‘rather hostile’ role played by local officials towards fellow citizens. Moreover, the ‘bureaucrat’, through whom official matters had to be sorted out, was increasingly a townsman. Official contacts certainly increased civil servants’ sense of self-worth, hastening transformation in the consciousness shaped by the former reality of social estates. Many representatives of the szlachta, however, were distinctly annoyed by them. It is no coincidence that justices of the peace, who resolved contentious minor matters at the district level, enjoyed particular szlachta recognition. These were the only judicial officials in the Duchy recommended by local sejmiki to the king, who would then appoint one of two selected candidates. Thanks to such procedures, participants acquired a substitute for genuine autonomy, while justices of the peace became symbols of the persistence of szlachta traditions of self-government. The connection was not difficult to make, since this was the only administrative function not in receipt of a salary. A civil service and justice system that depended on employees who received a salary in exchange for carrying out their duties prompted many critical remarks. It contradicted the notion of citizenship virtues and principle of unpaid service to the fatherland. Many who took up work at that time ‘in the service’ felt ashamed at the thought that they had transformed from ardent citizens into paid hirelings. Kajetan Koźmian, employed by the Council of State, recalled: ‘When after several months’ service, the janitor brought me a bag containing my monthly salary …, I blushed as if he were trying to bribe me.’ ‘Sons [of the fatherland] had been replaced by minions,’ he concluded mournfully. Despite these initial objections, Koźmian persisted in his civil service career. Perhaps he perceived that a return to former principles of state government was impossible. It also cannot be ruled out that his salary of 12,000 zlotys had some influence on the poet’s life choices. What irritated Koźmian was regarded by many others as especially attractive: for some representatives of the szlachta, a permanent salary was sufficient argument against sentimental attachment to unpaid service. Nobles, and not only the poorest, willingly competed for employment in the civil administration or justice system.

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In some cases it was the result of life necessity. It is hard to imagine that one nineteenyear-old light-cavalryman, whose service in the Spanish war had ended due to a ‘crushed chest and two broken ribs’ and who later found work as a clerk in a provincial salt warehouse thanks to Poniatowski’s recommendation, embarked on such a career with any enthusiasm. Others no doubt undertook their duties with greater eagerness. Civil service posts provided townsmen and poorer nobles with a living and consolidated their position in local power structures. The centralization of executive power in the Duchy did not mean elimination of the informal influence of local potentates and authority figures in government offices. This conclusion may be drawn from research into the career paths of officials in the Siedlce Department. The most important administrative positions were taken by nobles active in pre-partition local government, or by their sons. The weakness of local urban communities meant that administrative posts in towns were occupied by minor szlachta. Biographies of certain officials illustrate a gradual process by which the szlachta encroached on the town environment. A noble coat of arms still counted for a lot, although material status and lifestyle were increasingly determined by occupations and sources of income associated with towns. The influence of former connections, however, should not be underestimated. The bureaucratic apparatus was based above all on former officials of szlachta-controlled local government and on exploitation of previously existing family and neighbourly connections. Under Prussian and Austrian rule, some of these certainly waned in significance. Following its collapse, many such connections were naturally restored. In the new political realities, a distinguished neighbour might still act as patron, for instance in his role as prefect or sub-prefect, to less important neighbours living in his department. Maybe the practice mentioned above of employing supernumerary staff in district and department administrations, and sharing the salaries assigned to a smaller workforce, can be explained by this desire to assist protégés in difficult financial situations, and not simply by the multitude of responsibilities falling on the civil service. There was also another way in which bonds of dependency and gratitude were maintained or created. In the Duchy, the assumption of any post associated with responsibility for public funds required a substantial security deposit, sometimes as much as the value of a large farm. Because of the general shortage of money in the country, the universally adopted practice was a mortgage secured on landed property. This principle restricted the access of poorer szlachta to administrative posts. It could be bypassed, however, thanks to the practice of securing deposits by taking out mortgages on the property of wealthier neighbours. The practice favoured the restoration of former client relationships or the creation of new networks of dependency. This type of mechanism strengthened the position of local leaders of the szlachta, such as members of the Wężyk family in the Biała Podlaska and Łosice districts, who themselves occupied important positions in the local administration, enabling at the same time numerous neighbours to occupy other posts by securing the necessary deposits on Wężyk landed property.28 Certain practices of the former noble clientele system therefore survived in the functioning of the Duchy’s civil service. This was expressly confirmed by one diarist: ‘There were many candidates for one official position, all supported by patrons via circuitous routes, and these candidates would bow low before their benefactors in the

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time-honoured fashion in the hope of landing some little job.’29 New regulations introduced by Napoleonic legislation therefore adjusted to the mentality and mechanisms of pre-partition public life. This fact might well have limited the professionalization of the civil service apparatus. It is doubtful whether testing candidates’ competence through examining commissions entirely eradicated former practices – it is not hard to imagine how old acquaintances and family connections continued to influence the outcome. The tendency to appoint individuals who had fulfilled administrative functions in the pre-partition period was also understandable because of the shortage of properly qualified candidates. The large number of posts to be filled meant that people lacking previous practical experience had to be employed, although many made up for this lack with their education. Apart from former officials and insurrectionary activists, representatives of science, culture and the arts were also sought. The milieu to which the government turned was therefore the Society of Friends of Science. Many of the society’s members joined the staff of administrative, judicial and educational institutions. Among them was its president, Stanisław Staszic, who divided his time between scientific research, political and economic journalism, and administrative work in the Chamber of Education, Treasury and Council of State. At this time, the society departed from its former declaration, issued to pacify the Prussian authorities, concerning the apolitical nature of its activities. The majority of lectures delivered at its meetings were embellished with patriotic phrases, including those on the pure and applied sciences, the promotion of which was to serve the country’s modernization and improve its economic situation. Huge attention was likewise paid to developing national culture. Research in this direction had already been initiated before 1806 in order to save Polish history, the Polish language and the literary achievements of earlier centuries from potential – or so people thought – oblivion. It was pursued after 1807 with greater optimism by promoting literary and scientific Polish, defining precisely grammatical and stylistic principles, as well as the concepts expressed by them. Work on a dictionary of the Polish language and its grammar was discussed at the society’s meetings. Maria Wirtemberska, née Czartoryska, daughter of Adam Kazimierz Czartoryski, in dedicating her sentimental novel, Malwina (1816), to her brother (Adam Jerzy Czartoryski), reminded her fellow countrymen that ‘there is no literary genre of which the Polish language might not be capable’.30 The Society of Friends of Science brought together the most distinguished minds and pens from across the whole territory of the former Commonwealth, among them the elite social group known later in the nineteenth century as the intelligentsia. By 1807–15, this group of intellectuals already had a tradition stretching back several decades. Its precursors during the reign of Stanisław August were the librarians, booksellers, teachers, or still relatively few officials and others earning their living from the work of the mind. The intelligentsia was associated above all with urban culture and an urban lifestyle. Its representatives were already a permanent fixture in the social landscape of towns: in their free time they would fill the coffee houses and theatres, discuss the newspapers and politics, and complain about the low intellectual level of their surroundings and even more about their own low wages. Their political sympathies varied, although it seems that they were more receptive to the radical

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slogans flowing out of revolutionary France than other social groups. The group’s fundamental value system took shape gradually. It was based on an Enlightenment world view, although not everyone accepted its more radical attitudes towards religion: deism or atheism. However, it is clear from contemporary correspondence and publications that belief in working for the common good and general well-being of the national community was widely accepted. At the time of the Duchy of Warsaw, intellectuals were already aware – something obvious to their spiritual successors in subsequent decades of the nineteenth century – of the tasks confronting educated inhabitants in a backward land, called to grapple with the reality surrounding them and educate their compatriots. In the Duchy of Warsaw, the expansion of the civil service undoubtedly created favourable conditions for the development of the ‘intellectual class’ and stimulated its numerical expansion. The social origins of the group were diverse. Alongside impoverished szlachta and townspeople, a crucial number were also – and this was specific to the Polish Enlightenment – in religious orders. A more precise estimate of the proportions between these groups is impossible to establish. Because of the social transformations taking place and decline in the importance of the nobility as a factor determining individual careers, the percentage of townsmen among the intelligentsia ought to have grown. It is just as likely, however, that the percentage of intellectuals from noble backgrounds might in fact have increased, due to the progressive impoverishment of the minor szlachta, which forced many of its representatives to take up paid work in offices and schools. The remaining social groups contributed less to the creation of the intelligentsia. Few came from families with Jewish roots: the most well known was Abraham Stern, a mechanical engineer and engine constructor, who cooperated with the Society of Friends of Science and was accepted into its body of members.31 The growth of the intelligentsia was also prompted by developments in education. Warsaw’s highest civil educational institutions, the Schools of Law, Administrative Sciences and Medicine, together attracted about 500 students, which is hardly impressive in terms of size. However, it is important to note that a similar number were then studying at the prestigious University of Wilno in Russian-annexed Lithuania. The real quantitative leap however took place lower down the educational ladder, above all in elementary schools or grammar schools at the district and departmental levels. The number of elementary schools grew between 1807 and 1814 from 578 to 1,489. During that time, 44,670 children were educated in them, or approximately one in nineteen. Here too was the greatest increase in the number of employed teachers.32 Considerably less numerous than teachers, but without doubt an important intellectual group, were the founders of newspapers. The modern definition of ‘journalist’ does not correspond to the reality of those days. The publisher of a newspaper was often its editor, and even its printer. He would employ few permanent collaborators. The group of publishers, editors and authors writing regularly for newspapers and journals consisted of 124 individuals identifiable by name during the time of the Duchy. Seventy-seven per cent stemmed from the nobility, the remainder from urban centres. More than half combined several professional roles, squaring their work on the newspaper with other responsibilities, usually work in government offices.

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The Duchy’s press had limited opportunity for development because of the low levels of urbanization and literacy. Given these conditions, the centres of periodical publishing continued to be Warsaw, Kraków, Bydgoszcz, Poznań and Toruń. Twenty of the thirty-five periodicals appearing in the years 1807–15 were published in Warsaw. Among the published journals, a crucial role – unknown to the Polish market before then – was played by official dailies, in which the authorities informed inhabitants of various decrees and announcements, and even gave all kinds of household, farming or medical advice. Dailies issued by the departments probably had the widest circulation: town and commune authorities were obliged to publicize the contents of official journals sent to them or have them read out in churches. Newspapers covering general news usually appeared twice a week. They did not impress with their investigative journalism or courage in tackling difficult topics. It is hard to imagine things otherwise since the press was subject to stringent preventive censorship, closely tracked by Napoleon’s resident in the Duchy. Censorship affected topics connected with the Duchy’s political system, the actions of its government or its powerful protector. Hence, critical opinions on the constitution, the Napoleonic Code or the continental blockade, or information about military setbacks to Napoleon, rare before 1812, had no chance of publication. The majority of newspaper pages were filled with official announcements, or information about the most important political and public events conveyed in a tone of patriotic enthusiasm. News from abroad was reprinted from the European press, especially from the French Monitor and bulletins of the Grand Armée. This was supplemented by medical and general household advice, some news from the world of science and technology, a few translations of foreign literature, embellished by occasional poetry usually extolling victorious battles, peace treaties, and so on. Readers could find more substantial material in Annals of the Society of Friends of Science [Roczniki Towarzystwa Przyjaciół Nauk] which contained information about the society’s activities as well as reports on research conducted abroad. From 1809, Warsaw Review [Pamiętnik Warszawski] appeared devoted to literature, fine art and history, and addressed to the most demanding readers. The career of its publisher is yet another example of the need for educated employees in state institutions and of how intellectuals typically combined various public and professional roles. Ludwik Ossiński, poet, translator, dramatist and literary critic, fulfilled at the same time the functions of secretary to the literary section of the Society of Friends of Science and general secretary to the Ministry of Justice. In 1814 he also added the directorship of the National Theatre to his portfolio.33 Overall assessments of the cultural achievements of an era, even a short one, always carry the risk of exaggerated and distorting generalizations. Compared to the flowering of literature under Stanisław August, literary production in the years 1807–15 was hardly innovative in formal terms, as well as too subservient to Napoleonic propaganda. It should be noted, however, that owing to Poles’ political aspirations, Napoleonic propaganda in the Duchy of Warsaw was more in tune with the mood of its addressees than in other countries subjugated to the Emperor of the French. Works promulgating Napoleon’s greatness invoked simultaneously significant – to Poles in their current political situation – national heroes and strong leaders. Hence, poetry praising military heroism and self-sacrifice or the classical ode enjoyed great

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popularity. In accordance with contemporary notions of the social functions of belleslettres, such poetry was intended to inspire recipients’ pride in their national past while extending knowledge of it. Maybe it was not great literature, but good enough to arouse emotions and appeal to the taste of many readers. Fine arts developed, like literature, in the shadow of politics. Subjects included the greatness of Napoleon’s achievements, Poles’ gratitude to him, and their hopes for the restoration of their own state under his aegis. Usually, they were ordered by the authorities or suggested by the French residents, in accordance with the Napoleonic model of exploiting art for propagandist purposes. A typical example was the banner designed by Jerzy Bogumił Plersch displayed during Napoleon’s visit to a Warsaw theatre in 1807. In the centre is a likeness of Napoleon, stylized to look like a Roman emperor, in shining triumph, while the genius of glory hovers over his head. In the bottom left-hand corner, a figure of a woman, the personification of Polonia (Poland), turns to the emperor in an imploring pose with the words ‘Hope is in You.’ On the right-hand side, meanwhile, the artist has placed an angel drawing aside the slab of a tomb, out of which a knight arises – one of those ‘brave Sarmatians’, whose example was frequently invoked to arouse patriotic zeal. Gates and triumphal arches in the Empire style were also erected in the Duchy on the occasions of the emperor’s and empress’s birthdays, or the progress of the king. These, however, were only imitations; the critical condition of state finances meant that they were erected only when a given celebration demanded it, using wood, canvas and plaster. It was certainly not the best time for artists, many of whom had to seek employment in government offices, for example, as department architects.34 In the political system of the Duchy, societal processes already underway before the fall of the Commonwealth, including the social advancement of town elites or decline in the importance of dispossessed szlachta, gained momentum. In addition to previously known factors contributing to social prestige, new ones appeared conducive to the gradual creation of a specific blend or amalgam – of new layers and groups emerging on the social landscape. Such transformations were to continue throughout the nineteenth century, but their beginnings may be traced to the years 1807–15. They were accompanied by shifts in the social hierarchy. Perception of the place occupied by particular groups in the stratification of society became more heavily influenced by material status. This is directly confirmed by the Duchy legislation regulating the level of taxes. In a decree of 1809, relating to an extraordinary tax collected in aid of fortifications, a division of the population into ten classes was introduced. To the highest (tenth) class belonged ‘the wealthiest landed citizens’, but also ‘significant merchants’, lawyers and notaries from large towns as well as those ‘who travel about town in their private carriage, or one hired for months’ – an amusing attempt to specify these as yet imprecise categories. Immediately below these came physicians and dispensing chemists from large urban centres. Civil servants of various ranks were assigned to between the fifth and ninth classes according to the size of their salaries. In a more detailed schedule, introduced for collecting a personal income tax, intellectual workers found themselves in the fourth to the ninth classes. In the lowest class, in addition to minor administrators of private lands, millers and church organists, appeared artists living in smaller towns. In the fifth and sixth classes, alongside

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low-ranking army officers and managers of large farms, private teachers, tutors and governesses, were low-ranking civil servants and artists in larger towns, among others. In the seventh class, alongside middle-ranking army officers, factory owners employing at least six workers as well as owners of palaces in towns, we encounter physicians from small towns and villages, dispensing chemists and civil servants of middling rank. In the eighth class, we find higher-ranking officers and civil servants, owners and leaseholders of seven to twelve farms, as well as physicians in the largest cities, and newspaper editors. Doctors practising in the largest cities qualified for the ninth class. The majority of the intelligentsia’s professionals qualified for the six or seventh class, which grouped together taxpayers with average incomes. The attention to detail in this classification of taxpayers illustrates the difficulties experienced by the evolving Treasury administration in establishing principles for describing the economic and social reality of the state. Diverse criteria were applied, linking professional groups according to a category then in general use: ‘means of livelihood’. It is hard to treat the schedule of taxation classes as a complete reflection of the prestige of particular professions or their place in the social hierarchy.35 Tax tariffs, however, are a witness to the transformations taking place in society and in mentality. The official classification of taxpayers was compiled according to income. Incomes were estimated more or less accurately. However, the chief guiding principle, uniting various groups within a single class no longer according to birth but to material status, was unquestioned. This much was clear to anyone paying taxes: official confirmation of the departure from a social hierarchy founded on estates. Shifts in the hierarchy of prestige affecting individuals were not determined only by money. Advancement could also come as a result of services rendered to the state. The paucity of sources describing the lower strata of society means that we can only speculate. It seems certain, however, that a soldier from an urban or peasant background who had seen the world and military service rewarded by decorations, outstripped in prestige in the eyes of his neighbours a nobleman dispossessed of farmland, or possessing only a small patch. His position was additionally strengthened by his acquiring the right to vote, which even without the appropriate fortune, allowed him to take part in commune assemblies alongside representatives of the local financial elite. Transformations in mentality and ways of understanding the individual’s place in society were also influenced by freemasonry. It is hard to estimate the exact scale of its effects. They were not small, however, considering the growth in popularity of the ‘royal art’ when compared to the pre-partition period. Under the Duchy, the number of adepts in Warsaw alone doubled – and that despite the decline in the city’s population. The number of lodges operating in the provinces also increased. From 1810 activities were coordinated by the Great National East of the Duchy of Warsaw, thus referring back to the traditional, pre-partition representative body of Polish freemasonry. In 1812 the Great National East already oversaw twelve lodges with a total membership of about 1,200. Despite the revival of freemasonry, the introduction of new customs and practices scandalized conservative malcontents, who called for a return to the former simplicity and deep intellectual approach to problems. New practices were partly the result of a larger number of army officers entering the lodges than before. They brought

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with them models accepted in the French military lodges, including a liking for noisy banquets. Freemasonry in the Duchy was certainly less elitist than it had been before, as well as immeasurably entangled in politics. Ceremonies taking place in lodges, and speeches delivered during them, were full of references to political independence. The ‘worshippers of truth and virtue’ were expected to work on the perfection of humanity but at the same time be ardent patriots. Alongside their no doubt sincere praises for the Duchy’s political system, speeches were delivered glorifying Napoleon as the ‘lieutenant of the Great Builder of the World’. Freemasonry remained for many an attractive environment. Townsmen were attracted to the masons’ idea of building a new society based on the principle of equality, and by their promotion of a model of personal behaviour that observed high moral standards and rejected class inequalities as ‘superstition and prejudice’. In the two Warsaw lodges, the ‘Temple of Isis’ and the ‘United Polish Brothers’, about 1.5 per cent of members were bankers, merchants, householders and more prosperous craftsmen. A new phenomenon was the participation in lodges of Jews. Some, such as Berek Joselewicz, were introduced to them through military service. Others represented trading and financial circles. The majority were renowned for their considerable fortunes. To this group belonged, among others, the great contractors Jakub Epstein, Samuel Fraenkel and Samuel Kronenberg. Meanwhile, there were others active on the borderline between trade and culture, such as the founder of the well-known line of booksellers, Natan Glücksberg. In the Duchy, participation of townspeople in the lodges was less widespread than in countries with large powerful city elites – in one of the contemporary Berlin lodges, townsmen made up a quarter of the membership. The trend towards including plebeians in such activities, regarded until then as elitist, was also noticeable in the Duchy. The overwhelming majority of freemasons, however, continued to be of noble origin, usually employed in the civil service, judiciary or army. In the Warsaw lodge ‘Temple of Isis’, civil servants made up 47.9 per cent of the membership and army officers 25.3 per cent. In the capital’s other lodge, the ‘United Polish Brothers’, which was founded by soldiers, officers constituted 50.5 per cent of members. It would seem that noble landowners played a more active role in provincial lodges: in the lodge functioning in Płock, they were the second largest group (22.5 per cent), less numerous than civil servants (50.6 per cent) but more numerous than officers from the local garrison (12.4 per cent). It is doubtful whether the search for enlightenment or love of virtue was the only motivation of adepts of the ‘royal art’. Freemasonry was attractive because of its aura of secrecy. Others might have treated it as an elite social club, membership of which opened up interesting personal and professional opportunities. Such an attitude suggests as much the prosaic intentions of the observer as his practical common sense. The high percentage of powerful people involved in freemasonry was a secret only to the most ill-informed non-initiates. Four out of the seven members making up the Duchy’s first Council of Ministers, and at least two councillors and three senior secretaries of the Council of State were masons. At least thirty of the Duchy’s generals, including Poniatowski himself, as well as 63 per cent of the management personnel of the Ministry of War, were active in lodges. The number of lower-ranking officers and

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officials engaged in freemasonry cannot be accurately estimated, but it was certainly high. Research into the careers of judges and court officials reveals that almost 50 per cent of them were masons. Many cultural figures, who also often occupied civil service posts at the same time, were likewise involved. Masonic lodges were an additional place, alongside the salons and the Society of Friends of Science, where elite intellectual circles could meet powerful politicians. The latter were so well represented in masonry that the scholar Ludwik Hass was prompted to claim that the Duchy of Warsaw was ‘the only state in East Central Europe where freemasonry was a real and influential force’.36 Wealth, services rendered and education brought a feeling of personal success, often guaranteeing a career, but were not always sufficient to guarantee social prestige among all social groups. Money, even a lot of it, did not necessarily indicate entry to elite social circles. This was definitely the case of Judyta Jakubowiczowa, who was an educated woman with an impressive fortune. Parties and balls apparently took place at her house, where French and Polish officers and dignitaries met, as well as wealthy merchants and financiers. Their sumptuousness is confirmed by the elegant dinner services included in the inventory of her estate. Similar gatherings also took place at the villa of Jakubowiczowa’s son-in-law, Samuel Fraenkel. It seems they were rarely about establishing closer links between wealthy townspeople and the szlachta or aristocracy, which would have been cultivated on a different basis. Sources – emanating usually from the noble estate – rarely mention social intercourse with representatives of the emerging bourgeoisie, suggesting that the latter were absent from prestigious salons or that their presence was acknowledged in embarrassed silence. This would appear to be confirmed by the image of large-scale trade and finance portrayed in diaries. Their authors usually did not hide their hostility towards those who, having little regard for the conventional model of the patriot laying down life and fortune for his country, enriched themselves on its needs. The persistence of former class barriers is confirmed by the continuing practice of arranged marriages. The formal abolition of estates did not lead to families rejecting the principle of concluding marriages within the same social class, or with those possessing similar wealth and prestige. Some change came about due to the falling incomes of landed estates. For an average noble family, and especially the less wealthy szlachta, this could mean difficulty in marrying off daughters. The impossibility of putting aside money for a dowry limited the chance of finding a suitor among noble landowners. A ‘second choice’ candidate was often a dispossessed nobleman employed in district or department offices. Such a manoeuvre, when applied to family politics, was one mechanism of social advancement open to dispossessed nobles, as well as a means by which an official could gain acceptance from the established landed szlachta – a son-in-law keeping a daughter on a state salary certainly became less frequently associated with the suspect ‘hireling’. Although it became increasingly common practice for the nobility to be linked through family ties to individuals of noble origin carrying out intellectual work, the same did not apply to town elites. The children of the great contractors married within their own social circle. Connections between the aristocracy or wealthy szlachta and financial and trading circles became common only towards the end of the nineteenth century.37

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Services to one’s country also did not guarantee prestige, especially among those groups where a higher financial status was linked to old ancestral traditions. This affected even military service, which was highly rated at the time. For the majority of szlachta and townsmen, a general’s epaulettes were symbols of courage, professional competence and an important social position. In the social world of the capital, such connections did not make the appropriate impression on everyone, and one general was not equal to another. The legendary Jan Henryk Dąbrowski joined the elite of landed property owners thanks to the donation received from Napoleon and his marriage to a rich noblewoman, rather than to his military service. Not many of his subordinates possessed similar trump cards, thus exposing them to disrespect and impertinence from Poniatowski’s adjutants, who came from well-connected families. These nuances of social life and family connections, which meant that on the general staff as well as in the salons, a lieutenant was better respected than a general, were not evident everywhere, but those affected no doubt felt it acutely.38 Education often helped to eradicate differences in background and played an increasing role in mechanisms affecting promotion. It was not, however, a universal factor influencing social recognition. Prestige attached to intellectuals varied. Lawyers, whose profession was associated with the traditional noble jurist, could count on a high degree of respect among the szlachta. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, this was not the case with physicians. Noblemen continued to be unwilling to study medicine. Apart from foreigners, the vast majority of those seeking ‘a living’ in medicine were townsmen, who provided almost 87 per cent of practising Polish doctors in the years 1795–1820. Their social status appears to have been complex. It seems that among the former social elite according to birth, the professional competence of the best physicians was indeed valued, but their society was rarely sought. The status of surgeons remained especially low, since many people associated their professional competence with poorly qualified medical practitioners or barbersurgeons. Elementary school teachers occupied a lowly position in the social hierarchy. In 1807 the director of a college preparing candidates for this role roused the more hesitant with words of encouragement, but which give food for thought: ‘You need no longer fear hunger or contempt or thousands of irritations. The state guarantees you bread and honour!’39 Differences between the official prestige attached to defined positions in the military or civil hierarchy, and its real recognition by the prevailing social elite, make it possible to observe the extent and depth of the social transformations taking place in the Duchy. To minor szlachta or townsmen, people with a similar background to themselves progressing up the rungs of the military or administrative hierarchy were examples of real social and material advance. From the perspective of wealthy landowners and aristocrats, however, criteria such as services rendered, education, fortune and professional position did not imply that genuine entry into elite circles was a foregone conclusion. This was no doubt due to their difficulty in accepting new criteria for social advancement, as well as an attempt to defend the traditional position of the szlachta, now threatened by social and political transformations brought about by the new political and legal structures, new state institutions and their administrative mechanisms.

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The formation of the intelligentsia, and also the officer cadre of the modern army, may be regarded as examples of amalgamation processes, according to which individuals with a szlachta, town or – more rarely – peasant background blended with time into a single group with a defined specialization, subscribing to common values and characterized by a particular ethos, such as the officer’s esprit or mission of a good civil servant committed to serving society. In the reality of the Duchy, a fundamental question would appear to be whether consciousness of belonging to a new professional and social group prevailed over family tradition, which united individuals of a given estate or group within its own confines. We may assume that conscious identification with their own professional milieu occurred more frequently among civil servants, teachers or officers stemming from the towns or minor szlachta, whose sense of advancement had been achieved through practising their profession or through military service. It is hard to establish, however, whether a noble landowner employed as a full-time official regarded himself first and foremost as a member of a group of professional state employees, or whether he remained above all a landowner supplementing income from his property with a civil service salary. Critical comments about officials, emanating from the mouths of nobles employed in the administration or judiciary, suggest the latter eventuality.40 A separate question is the level of acceptance, or its lack, which members of a given professional group coming from the lower social orders experienced from their ‘better born’ colleagues. It seems likely that differences in family background within the intelligentsia and officer cadre remained discernible for a long time. I would risk the assertion, however, that identification with one’s own professional group or family’s social group was not permanently fixed, but rather situational. It would seem that this was particularly so among the szlachta. Officials or officers stemming from the nobility tended to behave in professional situations according to the rules and procedures accepted in their specific milieus. In certain cases, however, they would apply the standards binding within the noble estate. An illustration of this assumption would be the above-mentioned behaviour of Colonel Turno who, when Henryk Dembiński’s mother demanded that he be promoted to officer rank, reacted not like the commander of a regiment dealing with a non-commissioned officer under his command, but as an individual belonging to the same social elite by birth and fortune as his subordinate. In accordance with the formal procedures, he did indeed refuse to fulfil the mother’s wishes; at the same time, he clearly bent the rules, suggesting a solution that guaranteed the young volunteer a status more worthy of his birth and facilitating his swift promotion. A similar coexistence of formal and informal rules of conduct in professional and military spheres must have occurred more regularly. Formal principles of professional and, as a consequence, often also social advance, based on experience, in-house training, civil service examinations and certificates of merit, had been functioning from only recently and – like the abolition itself of former estates – had not so far penetrated deep into society’s consciousness. Patterns of the former clientele system lingered on in szlachta mentality. Their continued functioning certainly reinforced mechanisms of advancement in which connections, kinship and social origin played a major role. This consolidated in a natural way the dominant role of the szlachta in the civil service

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and army, although we should remember that it was precisely from this layer of society that the majority of educated people sprang, thus providing the potential human resources for the army and administration. In this respect, there was no likelihood of competition from the country’s most numerous social class: the peasantry. Results of the spread of elementary education were painfully slow. The level of education in the countryside may be illustrated by the composition of village councils in the Kraków Department, which were made up of the wealthiest peasants in a village. In communes of the Olkusz District, only eleven out of 250 councillors could read and write, and in the Skalbmierz District, only six out of 300 councillors; in the Miechów District, all commune councillors were illiterate.41 A larger group of educated candidates for posts in the civil service or judiciary came from the townspeople. However, this group continued to be too sparse, and no doubt too deprived of influential patrons for it to significantly undermine the numerical predominance of officials emanating from the szlachta. The conditions created in the Duchy of Warsaw by reforms to the political system encouraged the formation of new classes and social strata. After 1807 the principle of equality before the law, the extension of electoral rights to affluent or educated individuals and those who had served the state, as well as the appearance of new factors determining prestige and mechanisms of social advancement weakened the traditional social hierarchy and class connections. This did not imply immediate transformation of the societal model. Processes of this kind rarely happen within a few years. The former society based on estates was not only a legal, but a mental structure. Article 4 of the constitution, which liquidated the division into estates, did not abolish overnight the nobility’s belief in its superiority, or its natural predisposition to fulfil the highest positions in public life, the civil service and army. It also did not alter the social realities shaped by the lack of educated, affluent town and peasant property owners ready to play the role of partner or competitor to the szlachta in the public arena, thus providing a foundation for the formation of new social groups. The extent of social transformations in the Duchy of Warsaw should not be underestimated, however. They indeed took place more slowly than envisaged by Polish republicans dreaming of social reconstruction; they happened more quickly, however, than those who eyed the changes brought about by Napoleon’s ‘keen intellect’ with hostility might have wished.

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New Forms and Old Mentalities in Political Life

King Stanisław August, when he stood in his youth as a candidate to the Sejm, would spend several days at his local sejmik ‘currying favour with hundreds of people who could indeed claim to be szlachta but barely half of whom could read’. As a result of reforms introduced by the Four Years Sejm, which no longer allowed non-propertied szlachta to participate in sejmiki, this kind of practice, which wounded a candidate’s sense of style as well as his purse, was to be a thing of the past. The Third of May system of government, however, lasted for too short a time to seriously alter the szlachta’s political culture. In the Duchy of Warsaw, former rivalries between magnate coteries vying for support by offering money and positions to voters were to be replaced by consent and order. Edifying examples were carried by press reports of sejmiki proceedings. Sessions were opened by the marshals, or speakers, who criticized ‘former discord’ in their speeches and emphasized the ‘need for unity’. ‘Harmony and consensus’ were to facilitate the unanimous elections of envoys to the Sejm, judges, as well as members of department and district councils.1 The reality of proceedings departed no doubt from the press reports. The manner in which they were described was not accidental. The Duchy’s political elite had not forgotten their recent fears about the continued existence of the Polish nation, which no longer had its own state structures to rely on. The experiences of the early years of the new century invoked the bleakest visions of Poles’ denationalization. These were softened by belief in the emergence of an auspicious political situation, as a result of which Poles might regain their lost state. Not only patriotic sacrifice and mobilization of the country’s resources were essential to its restoration: ‘Valiant nation! I admonish you, take advantage of the times,’ urged Staszic in 1807. ‘Only a villain, being so armed, returns again to shameful slavery.’ His dramatic challenge expressed fear of a return to the former political games which had paralysed the country’s political system. In the journalistic articles, appeals and speeches of the time, the need to shed that part of their former political culture which might weaken Poles’ readiness for joint action to restore their state was constantly underlined. The spirit of ‘faction’ and ‘anarchy’, which had once encouraged magnate coteries and szlachta seduced by them, to indulge in disputes destructive to the state, was recognized as the worst legacy of the past. Fears of its continuing influence had not waned. In the autumn of 1807, Rajmund Rembieliński, in the characteristic manner of political reformers, argued that the ‘profligate freedom’ of the szlachta had brought Poland to ‘the utmost level of chaos’. The future prefect of

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the Płock Department appealed for national consensus, referring to similar appeals made by Napoleon, who continued to be influenced by the popular western belief that Poles were inclined to anarchy. Both in journalism and in government propaganda, there was a tendency to smooth over former disputes in the interests of political common sense, which emphasized Poles’ common aims. The role played in the collapse of the state by compatriots active in 1792 in the pro-Russian Confederation of Targowica, vanished almost entirely from public discourse. The partitions were blamed on the violence and subterfuge of Poland’s neighbouring powers. The question of treason, which still inflamed moods at the time of Kościuszko’s insurrection, was ignored or its mention limited to a small group of wayward sons of the fatherland, not identified by name. Instead, targets of virulent criticism in journalism as well as in the Duchy’s propaganda were offences against patriotic fervour and national unity. Anti-models were thus the ‘egoists’ who declined to participate in national efforts to regain political independence. Excessive criticism of Napoleonic laws and institutions was also regarded as politically detrimental. In government circles, too vigorous criticism of the actions of the authorities met with a similar judgement. Envoy Józef Godlewski, who attacked abuses in the Duchy’s administration, was called ‘a traitor in the pay of Russia’ by government sympathizers. Prince Józef even declared publicly that the envoy deserved a Russian decoration for ‘abusing the government’.2 The Duchy’s uncertain political and military situation, the war of 1809, and eventually the expectation of another European conflict that would enable the reunification of the Polish lands to be completed under the aegis of the Emperor of the French, meant that national unity and loyalty to Poland’s protector were treated by supporters of Napoleon as the foundation of Polish reason of state. This foundation was to be consolidated by using French propaganda models, which transformed into an official personality cult of Napoleon. The cult was spread during state ceremonies and celebrations linked to Napoleon’s military successes. It was also consolidated by government institutions, schools and the Catholic Church. Priests were instructed to lead prayers for the armies of Napoleon, ‘whom Providence had appointed as the saviour of the Polish lands’. Newspapers also became instruments of propaganda, their editors striving to combine the necessary dose of admiration for the emperor’s genius with elimination of news that might cast it into doubt. Besides, the choice of information to be imparted was overseen by the censorship.3 The unification of the Poles under the emperor’s aegis was all the more important for supporters of the French option because from the very moment the Grande Armée invaded the Prussian Partition, rumours abounded about the activization of Napoleon’s Polish political opponents. It seems there were not many of them. According to Skarbek, they included a small group who had enriched themselves under Prussian rule. Exploiting the slump in mood due to the painful costs of maintaining Napoleon’s armies in the country, they tried to undermine the rationale for involvement on Napoleon’s side. Their activism did not extend, however, beyond discussions within a trusted circle. The activities of the few supporters of Prussia were also carefully monitored in subsequent years. They aroused no serious fears, however, among the Duchy’s

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governing elite. They were not a close-knit, homogeneous group. Prussian influence among former subjects was negligible. Henryk Brandt, an officer in the Vistula Legion, returning home after several years in Spain, recalled that his interlocutors ‘praised Prussian times, but no one longed for their return’.4 Given his German background and later career as a Prussian general, his opinion is not devoid of certain piquancy. It would seem to be accurate, however, since the court in Berlin had nothing to offer the Poles from a political point of view. The sympathy of a few German settlers or former Prussian civil servants enabled intelligence activities to be conducted, but no more widely planned political action. For similar reasons, pro-Austrian sympathies in the Duchy were never far-reaching. The lack of political infrastructure, upon which Austrian or Prussian supporters could rely, was noticed even by the French resident Étienne Vincent, who tended to exaggerate intrigues against the emperor. On the other hand, he was rather more concerned about the Russian party which grew in strength ‘each day’ and was led by ‘the most influential people in the land’.5 Already during the 1807 war, Polish republicans had warned of intrigues perpetrated by supporters of Russia, emanating above all from the ‘great noble families’. This concern was prompted partly by the stereotype of the magnate in the pay of Russia, formed during the partitioning period. Compromising the aristocracy, by accusing it of pro-Russian machinations, also helped former Jacobins to weaken the position of aristocrats in the tussle for influence in Napoleon’s entourage. Supporters of the French emperor may have had genuine reason, however, for concern. Information must have reached Warsaw of the attempt in the Russian Partition by Adam Jerzy Czartoryski and a small group of collaborators to persuade Alexander I to declare himself King of Poland. It failed, but could well have aroused fear of pro-Russian activities also in the Prussian Partition. These had not been laid to rest by the Peace of Tilsit. From Warsaw’s perspective, the mood among Poles still living under Russian rule appeared disturbing. News of the Duchy’s creation inclined many, especially of the younger generation, towards the Napoleonic option. Some others, however, although equally committed to the idea of independence, perceived the new state’s uncertain political situation surrounded by hostile partitioning states. French structural models, the abolition of social estates, emancipation of the peasants, introduction of the Napoleonic Code, high taxes and the fall in incomes from landed estates caused some szlachta in the Russian Partition to be wary of Napoleon. Many conservative nobles regarded the Russian Partition under Alexander I to be a peaceful safe haven in a violently transforming world. The tsar himself was reputed among the szlachta to be a ruler congenial to Poles. Some nobles considered that the restoration of Poland with the tsar as ruler would be a beneficial solution in accord with political realism. This belief was not linked to any particular respect for Russia, sympathy for Russian officials or Russians in general. The term ‘pro-Russian option’ is therefore misleading – in reality, the all-important role was played by political hopes directly associated with Alexander I. How widespread such hopes were in the Russian Partition remains a contentious issue. Towards the end of 1811, Russian generals emphasized in their reports the hostile attitude of Poles towards the Russian government. The dominant mood

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was one of desire for war, which would end in Russian defeat and reunification of lands in the Russian Partition with the Duchy of Warsaw. Perhaps the most realistic assessment of the situation was made by Félix Lajard, secretary to the French Embassy in Dresden. On the basis of information collected from Poles, Lajard claimed that there were three ‘parties’ in the Russian Partition. The most numerous were supporters of Napoleon. A smaller group claimed to be supporters of Alexander I. The tone of the latter had been set by fifteen to twenty significant families who stood to gain from Russian rule. Between these two political extremes, there was a large community refraining from openly expressing its views, and waiting to see how events would develop. The Duchy’s difficult political and economic situation might well have favoured the infiltration of Russian influence. Rumours of it – rumours rather than hard facts – appeared in Davout’s reports, although they were hotly denied by the Polish authorities. In September 1807 the Ruling Commission forewarned its representatives in Dresden of French accusations about the activities of ‘numerous Muscovite spirits’, acknowledging them as harmful and requiring firm correction. Fear of the influence of Alexander’s supporters in the Duchy persisted in subsequent years, although it is hard to identify concrete examples of activities before 1810. Such anxiety resulted from memories of active Russian policy in Poland in the eighteenth century and the belief that the so-called Russian option, temporarily put to sleep, could regain its influence when circumstances were right.6 The Polish ‘unity’ postulated by Napoleon’s supporters in their efforts to regain their own state could not be disrupted by Russian intrigues alone. Another reason for division could have been the social composition of the group which, according to French terminology, should be described as ‘active citizens’. Certain changes had already been introduced by the Third of May Constitution. It had removed non-propertied szlachta from participation in local sejmiki, while allowing limited access for townsmen to the Chamber of Envoys. Likewise guaranteed by the Third of May Constitution, the right of townsmen to acquire landed estates, their admission to careers in the civil service or army, and the promise of governmental and legal ‘protection’ for peasants augured gradual change in social and political structures. But the political system introduced by the Third of May Constitution lasted too short a while for change to take place on a large scale. The constitution bestowed on the Duchy by Napoleon outstripped the political imagination of the reformers of the Four Years Sejm. The class of citizens now possessing electoral rights was shaped by several types of qualification – apart from noble possession of land, these included personal property, education and services to the state – and embraced new social groups, including wealthy townsmen, decorated soldiers and officers, or representatives of the intellectual professions. Some of the Duchy’s political and intellectual elite were in no doubt that such changes were heading in the right direction. Characteristic of this group were the political ideas contained in Colonel Józef Neyman’s letter to the press in 1807. This former republican described how to explain the Duchy’s system of government to peasants. His exposition contained an enthusiastic evaluation of the structure of the state, in which ‘oppression will end’, peasants ‘mend their ways’ and ‘landlords be better’.7

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Part of the political elite, previously associated with the Jacobins and Society of Polish Republicans, was no doubt prepared for the changes introduced by the Napoleonic Code. As to the rest, recognizing the electoral rights of townsmen and peasants aroused concerns. They were nursed not only by conservative members of the szlachta. Secretary to the Senate, Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz, a representative figure of those aristocratic and szlachta circles that recognized the need to allow non-nobles to participate in political life, anxiously observed the progress of the first commune assemblies in 1809. Niemcewicz was afraid as to whether electors participating for the first time were up to the task. He discovered to his satisfaction, behind which earlier fears nevertheless still lurked, that sessions proceeded in an orderly fashion, which was hard to expect from ‘a people unaccustomed to exercising such rights’. The wealthiest peasants (up to 35,000–40,000 in 1811) and townsmen (40,000– 50,000) gained the right to vote. Electors of peasant or municipal origin were therefore more numerous than noble landowners, of whom about 36,000 had the right to participate in local sejmiki. In 1811 approximately 2.5 per cent of the total population of the Duchy had the right to participate in elections. The town and peasant electorate, although when taken together were twice the size of the noble, had the right to elect commune deputies, who made up only one-third of the Chamber of Envoys. Despite this, and considering their former political status, urban and peasant representatives gained opportunities to participate in the political system that were hitherto unimaginable.8 This certainly encouraged the growth in non-noble identification with the state. The peaceful progress – if we ignore minor incidents – of the commune assemblies in 1809 demonstrates that calls for national unity and citizens’ responsibility for the state spoke also to townsmen and peasant electors. During some assembly proceedings, however, feelings of separateness in terms of their own interests or antagonisms dividing the local szlachta, peasants and town dwellers were sometimes evident. In speeches delivered at sessions, full of expressions of gratitude to Napoleon and calls for national unity, a form of class pride also emerged. One Poznań merchant argued, for example, that townsmen had always been the fatherland’s main source of wealth and ‘never joined in any treason’. Fewer similar testimonies remain from the peasantry; it would seem, however, that an appetite for active participation existed, at least among wealthier peasants. This is demonstrated by a petition concerning civil service abuses filed in the Council of State in 1809 by 156 villages. Its authors must have known, however, what kind of impression such a collective declaration by peasants would make on ministers, since they cautiously stressed that ‘we are not seduced by the frenzy of liberty, we feel the need for higher authority and respect it’. It seems, however, that the extent of active citizenship among peasants and townspeople was not great. Surviving data from some electoral wards suggests that few of those entitled to vote actually took part. The low turnout was influenced by the considerable distances that had to be covered in order to reach the place of deliberations, as well as poor communications in late autumn and winter, when assemblies took place. Many electors were probably put off by the high costs associated with such an expedition. The most important reason, however, for the absence of peasant electors could have been their continuing low political awareness and resulting

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lack of motivation for taking part in proceedings, the aim of which was not entirely clear to them and promised no immediate benefits. In August 1807, Davout, describing the mood of peasants, claimed they were politically indifferent and judged the state’s situation only from their own perspective, including the new financial burdens or robberies inflicted on them by passing armies. The marshal’s opinion was supported by other commentators. As Wawrzyniec Surowiecki soberly observed, ‘So long as the peasant remains a mere wanderer on his own land, until he possesses his own property that would pin him to it, then neither great patriotic feelings nor zeal for the common good can be expected from him.’9 The limited political activity of townspeople and peasants was accompanied by a low level of consciousness of their own aims. This was reflected in the outcome of the elections. Among the commune deputies elected to the Chamber of Envoys in 1809, there was not a single peasant. Several merchants were elected, as were four clergymen. In 1811 there were only thirteen non-noble envoys in the Chamber of Envoys, predominantly merchants and factory owners. The overwhelming majority of deputy seats were won at commune assemblies by szlachta candidates, who included  the clergy candidates. The actual participation of the szlachta in the Chamber of Envoys therefore exceeded the number of envoys specified by the constitution to be chosen at the sejmiki, amounting in 1809 to 75 per cent and in 1811 to 80 per cent of the total membership of the chamber.10 There were several reasons for the low number of elected envoys from non-noble backgrounds. The illiteracy of the overwhelming majority of townsmen and peasants limited their opportunity to stand as candidates; the electoral law entitled only candidates who could read and write to stand. Many potential candidates could not afford the expense of travelling to the capital and spending two weeks there. Peasants might have been put off by fear of the consequences, were they to openly compete against a candidate put forward by influential people in their commune. It is worth noting that towards the end of the 1780s, the elites of royal towns succeeded in creating a political movement with which the Sejm had to reckon. A similar situation was not repeated in 1807. Perhaps the deciding factor was the decline of the former financial elites in towns following partition. Some had left the country, the economic status of those remaining worsened, and so their influence diminished. Under Prussian rule, the new group of financial potentates had consisted primarily of newcomers from abroad, who did not identify with local milieus and were more interested in making money than in political activism. The social composition of envoys and deputies did not reflect the social structure of the Duchy’s inhabitants. It did reflect, however, the level of political culture of particular sections of the population and their ability to function in public life. The careers of townsmen in the civil service, judiciary or army depended increasingly on opportunities created by the Duchy’s political system. They were also the result, however, of individual abilities and initiative, and to a lesser degree of the economic, intellectual and political potential of the milieus from which such ‘new people’ arose. The social transformations taking place did not yet have a decisive impact on the traditional structures of social prestige. They did not yet lead to the emergence of genuine competition to szlachta candidates, who, because of their traditions, education

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and place in the social hierarchy, continued to have the greatest predisposition for participating in political life. In the reality of the Duchy of Warsaw, I understand by ‘political life’, the area demarcated by new legal and political-structural changes, as well as by political tradition and mentality. Within this area, it was possible to conduct activities that referred back to pre-partition models of political and civil activism. These included, for example, participation in the structures of power, in assemblies fulfilling electoral and opinion-forming functions, or in proceedings of the Sejm. I would also add journalistic activities, which enabled public debates to be conducted on current affairs, the future of the state, the economy, the political system and functioning of state institutions. It was difficult to relate experience of pre-partition political life to the political system of the Duchy, which Fryderyk Skarbek described – in rather exaggerated terms – as ‘the French system with rigorous and efficient procedures and unconditional subjection of all subordinate links in the chain to the highest authority’. Attempts to reactivate the familiar pre-partition model citizen must have encountered similar problems. They were hindered by the limited powers of the Sejm and local sejmiki. The king and government tried in addition to accommodate active citizenship within the framework defined precisely by the constitution: in 1808 the Council of State rebuked the szlachta of three districts for organizing assemblies without the permission of the central government. In such conditions, opportunities for real participation in political life were assured only at the very top level of the power structure. Power, admittedly, was not exactly sovereign. The constitution made quite clear that ‘governance resides in the person of the king’; the Council of State served as an instrument to help him govern. In 1808 Frederick Augustus did not hesitate to reprimand it for excessive independence, reminding it that it should ‘seek my approval’ on important issues and not take decisions ‘before sending me an earlier report’. With time, the king, occupied primarily with Saxon issues and convinced perhaps of the provisional nature of his authority over the Duchy, ceded more and more of his powers to the Council of State. Ministers, state councillors and senior secretaries could therefore exercise influence over many questions relating to the country’s administration, legal decisions, taxes, conscription to the army, customs duties, and so on. The requirement to refer matters beforehand to the king became a formal courtesy, since he often accepted the proposals presented to him without serious objection.11 What guaranteed a passport to the Duchy’s ruling circles? It would be easier to answer the question, what restricted access to them? In the public discourse of the time, people steered clear of calling for a settling of accounts with individuals once accused of treason, because of their active participation in the Confederation of Targowica. In practice, however, such people were denied access to the highest positions and honours. Generally speaking, these were discreet actions. The only notorious case was that of Bishop Wojciech Skarszewski, who had been condemned to death during the insurrection for his treachery, but saved by the intervention of Kościuszko. Under the Duchy, Skarszewski should have received, like other bishops, a place in the Senate – but this smacked of scandal. Indignation must have stretched to even representatives of the elite, disinclined to radicalism. The chairman of the Senate,

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Stanisław Małachowski, disregarding the subtleties of court protocol and in words far from courteous, threatened the king with his resignation if Skarszewski’s nomination to the Senate was upheld. The intervention proved effective, which shows that the mechanisms of the Duchy’s political system as defined by the constitution were open to informal adjustment. The right to nominate senators belonged to the king, but it was possible to influence his choice of candidates. Access to high office was also blocked to certain participants of the 1794 insurrection because of suspicions about their radicalism – they allegedly wished to establish a government modelled on the dictatorship of the French Jacobins, or had participated in mob lynching during the insurrection. The charge of Jacobinism effectively ended Hugo Kołłątaj’s return to politics, as he was accused of a craving for power and hidden desire to ‘overturn the government’. His attempts at political rehabilitation came to nothing, despite declarations in published brochures of his belief in Napoleon’s genius, and despite the stringent efforts of his supporters to establish good relations with Marshal Davout and a series of French residents. Kołłątaj’s enemies, who according to Davout were ‘numerous and made up higher society’, proved to be too strong, while his political support in the Duchy – too weak.12 Most former republicans occupied positions that were not insignificant, but of secondary importance from the political point of view. Which groups therefore made up the circle of power, understood in broad terms? Witold Kula claimed that the Duchy was ruled by ‘the [former] pages, secretaries and chamberlains of Stanisław August’. Indeed, from this group emerged the Minister of Internal Affairs, Jan Paweł Łuszczewski, consecutive chairmen of the Senate, Ludwik Gutakowski and Tomasz Ostrowski, state councillor Michał Kochanowski and the prefect of the Warsaw Department Franciszek Nakwaski. Meanwhile, the king’s secretary was the father of the prefect of the Płock Department, Rajmund Rembieliński.13 However, it should be noted that the biographies of other important figures in the elite circle of power, such as Feliks Łubieński, Stanisław Kostka Potocki or Tadeusz Matuszewicz, minister of the Treasury, do not conform to the above pattern. Furthermore, the milieu of chamberlains was not an overly elite community. The list of nominations to this title covering the whole reign of Stanisław August includes more than 700 names. Although treated as a distinction and expression of royal favour, it was not especially pivotal in launching political careers. Acquiring a passport to governing circles was facilitated by family and social connections as well as by the endurance of former clientele relationships within the new political structures and social conditions. Shifts in prestige and political influence resulting from the Duchy’s territorial reconfiguration, as well as from the social and material structure of the szlachta inhabiting it, also played a crucial role. In a state carved out of only part of former Commonwealth lands, the political role of the great magnate families was considerably reduced. The majority of estates belonging to the ‘great dynasties’ – the Czartoryskis, Radziwiłłs, Sapiehas, Branickis, some branches of the Potockis, or the Zamoyskis – found themselves either in Galicia or in the Russian Partition. Some never came to Warsaw; others resided there only temporarily. Their political support, which consisted of their tenants, relatives, friends, and people linked to them by bonds of gratitude or economic interest, now lay in territories occupied

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by the partitioning powers. The importance of the great families increased to some extent in 1809 after the annexation of Galicia, where the estates of the Czartoryskis, Zamoyskis and other ‘dynasties’ were located. Until that point, the functioning elites of the Duchy were the wealthy szlachta and aristocratic families living within the Duchy’s territory; some, such as the Krasińskis, had been influential on the political stage for many years, others had been less important. In the new political conditions, the role of ‘magnates’ fell to such families, on whose participation in the patriotic movement Napoleon insisted. A source of invaluable connections, offering entry to the elite circle of power, were the meetings held at Poniatowski’s Tin-Roofed Palace, where fashionable Warsaw crossed paths with Prince Józef ’s former comrades-in-arms. Poniatowski’s salon also opened the doors to a career, above all in the army. The Czartoryskis’ estate at Puławy, until 1809 under Austrian rule but located not far from Warsaw and maintaining close contact with the capital’s elite, continued to be influential. As Austrian subjects, the Czartoryskis had to proceed with caution, so as not to break off relations with Napoleon’s supporters while also not ‘compromising themselves’ in Vienna by making those contacts too ostentatious. At the same time, the many opponents of the Czartoryskis suspected them of pro-Russian sympathies because of the position of Adam Jerzy Czartoryski at the court in St Petersburg. Accusations against them meant that public opinion expected clearly expressed proof of their patriotism and loyalty to the Duchy. This affected above all Adam Jerzy, who remained formally in Russian service, although availing himself of unlimited leave. On the brink of the 1812 war, Matuszewicz, a family friend, challenged him – more in the tone of a mentor than of a former client – to immediately declare himself on Napoleon’s side. The delicate position of the family, whose possessions lay in the Austrian and Russian partitions, meant that it continued – along with its clients – to exert influence, although this was no longer commensurate with its potential or tradition. It is not difficult to identify the centres and coteries that brought together influential families in public life as a result of their material, societal and social positions. Defining the extent of their influence, however, is another question. Representatives of these groups occupied high positions in the administration and were potential patrons of civil service and political careers. They were potentially able to promote candidates to state offices, officer ranks or command of a regiment. But did the potential for action or ambitions of such coteries extend beyond the appointment of staff to middling or higher positions in the army and civil service? The preparation of more ambitious political plans, encompassing changes to the law and administration, certainly lay within Puławy’s capabilities. However, the Czartoryski effect can be seen more in the formation of opinion among sections of the szlachta and aristocracy. The realization of any concrete political plans was hampered by the family’s lack of any clear leader active on the political stage of the Duchy. This role was closed to Prince Adam Jerzy, who remained formally in Russian service. Greater opportunities were open to Stanisław Zamoyski, connected to Puławy by marriage, but aspiring to play an independent role.14 The new political mechanisms resulting from the Duchy’s structure limited the effectiveness of activities conducted in the style of former coteries. Personal connections

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and the support of former clients continued to influence access to positions and titles. This was not necessarily linked, however, to genuine access to power, and was not an essential condition for it. It is worth noting that Łubieński, initially without his own support base in the capital, became one of the most powerful of the Duchy’s ministers and swiftly created his own group of collaborators. This was possible thanks to the appearance of a factor unknown in pre-partition politics, namely a monarch endowed with unusually wide powers. Łubieński’s dominant position in the Duchy’s political system, like Napoleon’s protectorate, was made possible by consolidating his own position, thanks to the confidence of Frederick Augustus or the emperor himself. The persistence of client relationships as well as the ambitions and potential of particular coteries undoubtedly affected access to power. The mechanisms for creating a countrywide as well as local governing elite, however, were much more complex. To date, it has not been able to precisely identify them. On the level of departments and districts, appointment to senior office was determined by the extent of citizens’ trust in a candidate, gained thanks to patriotic activity in the Four Years Sejm or the 1794 insurrection. Access to power, in the broadest sense, was acquired above all by former supporters of the reforms of the Four Years Sejm – former envoys, local leaders of the szlachta or their sons. They certainly did not present a united front. Many things divided them, not least differences in economic status. They were united no doubt by the important common experience of involvement in attempts to reform the state, and free the country from Russian domination during 1788–92. The milieu formed by the period of the Four Years Sejm functioned not only among the highest dignitaries. Among the envoys and commune deputies to the Sejms, there were eleven participants from the Four Years Sejm. Forty-five per cent of envoys and 35 per cent of commune deputies had actively participated in public life before the partitions. Among middleranking officials in the Duchy and in the Chamber of Envoys, younger people were already clearly present; many, however, had inherited the reforming-insurrectionary tradition from the older generation. The fathers of half of the envoys to the Duchy’s Sejms had held official positions or other public functions before 1795. Meanwhile, the attitudes of envoys from less influential families could well have been formed by family participation in the 1792 war in defence of the Third of May Constitution, or in Kościuszko’s army. Not only the ruling circles, but also the decided majority of the Duchy’s political elite, consisted of people whose outlooks had been formed by the ideas of the Polish Enlightenment, which had emphasized the need to construct a modern state. For centuries, the Sejm had been the most important political institution in the Commonwealth. The constitution of the Duchy envisaged a more limited role for it. Its limited powers and lack of possibility for free discussion led many people to fear that under the Duchy, the Sejm would be reduced to a machine for voting on bills. Successive sessions of the Sejm confirmed such fears only in part. During sessions in March 1809 and December 1811, several government bills were rejected; the acceptance of two others was decided by a very small number of votes, most likely returned by state councillors who possessed the right to vote. During sessions in December 1811, one of the main subjects of debate was a bill prepared by minister Matuszewicz to reform the tax law and increase indirect taxes. Envoys rejected certain

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bills, which forced the Council of State to reintroduce them after entering corrections. Members of Sejm commissions, who were the only envoys with the right to speak on bills, criticized the complicated principles behind the organization of the judiciary as well as the lawlessness and abuses of officials. In 1811 the accusation that Łubieński had exceeded his powers prompted him to hand in his resignation, which was not accepted by the king. Envoy Józef Godlewski, who had the right to express his opinion as a member of the commission examining Treasury bills, criticized the government in a four-hour speech to the chamber’s applause. The mood in the debating chamber also persuaded the Council of State to withdraw a bill designed to introduce French criminal law. Envoys showed considerable determination in their struggle to limit government interference in the Chamber of Envoys. In 1809, during a debate on changes to the penal law, they denied state councillors participating in the proceedings the right to vote. The turbulent atmosphere in the chamber was appeased only when the speaker promised that he would persuade the king to issue a decree limiting the number of councillors taking part in votes. A heated confrontation similarly arose between Godlewski, who was criticizing government bills, and the man appointed to present them to the house, Aleksander Linowski. Irritated by Godlewski’s remarks, the state councillor declared that the bills were prepared by people who had proved their patriotism at a time when Godlewski was still at school. The majority of envoys recognized these words from Kościuszko’s former secretary in 1794, as an affront to the Chamber and demanded he leave the session. The state councillor refused. After a commotion that lasted over an hour, the king summoned Linowski to him. Envoys recognized that the king, not wishing the conflict to escalate, had made a gesture towards them. On the following day, they invited Linowski to take part in the debate and passed without further protest the bill they had earlier disputed. Belief in the political significance of the Sejm also prompted envoys to find ways round the restrictions on its freedom of action. The practice of publishing envoys’ opinions on the most important issues of the day was meant to serve this end. Informal sessions of the Chamber of Envoys were also organized, which took place after the close of official business and at which everyone present had the right to vote. The farthestreaching act of disobedience against the constitutional restrictions on the Sejm’s powers came in 1811. A firm majority of envoys and commune deputies signed an address to the king containing warnings about the state of the country, and pointing to the need for reform. The fact that the king accepted it – though he indicated he did so ‘not as a ruler, but as a father’ – should be recognized as an enormous success confirming the Sejm’s considerable political strength. The attitude of Frederick Augustus to the Chamber’s unconstitutional style of operation shows the political common sense of a ruler who, having perceived the specifics of political life in the Duchy, was inclined to reconcile the monarchic principles of the constitution with the traditions of Polish parliamentarianism. The attitude of envoys and the readiness of the king to make subtle concessions enabled a situation to arise in the Duchy allowing oppositional activities against the government, something that was not envisaged by the constitution. About twenty envoys, active in the commissions or speaking at the Chamber’s informal sessions,

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took part in them. The majority were from the wealthy or middling szlachta. The most vociferous was Józef Godlewski, who represented the Mariampol District. His popularity, earned by his courageous speeches against the tax and state finance bills, enabled him, according to Niemcewicz, to ‘talk for an hour or more’ against every new bill. However, it is difficult to regard Godlewski as the leader of a parliamentary opposition in the present-day sense. Envoys representing different groupings and parties, cooperating on specific issues, made speeches critical of the government. Sometimes such criticism united sympathizers of the former Jacobins with representatives of the wealthy conservative szlachta, otherwise politically far apart. There was no organized opposition, just as there was no government party.15 The need for active citizenship on a lesser scale was evident at the local sejmiki. In the pre-partition era, sejmiki had fulfilled important electoral, local government and political functions. Under the Duchy, they were entrusted with the election of envoys to the Sejm as well as of department and district councillors and justices of the peace. Despite its limited powers, a sejmik continued to play a vital role in local life, promoting integration of the regional szlachta and shaping its opinions. Sejmiki continued to be a kind of festivity for the local citizenry. The organization of sessions, their staging and customs associated with them – the religious service inaugurating them, ringing of bells, gun salutes, feasts given by the speaker and elected representatives – brought back rousing memories of former times. Besides, the majority of assemblies took place in the same locations as they had for hundreds of years, mostly in churches. The attachment of sejmiki to tradition did not lead, however, to attempts to increase their political role. The constitution forbade participants of sejmiki to approve addresses or requests to the king, or conduct ‘deliberations of any nature’. Apart from press reports, we have no record of sejmiki sessions. It is hard to believe that in an assembly of several score or several hundred, no discussion took place of the issues then occupying the minds of many of the Duchy’s inhabitants. Generally speaking, proceedings were peaceful, which those fearing a return to the former noble ‘anarchy’ received with distinct relief. The restrictions imposed by the constitution were generally accepted: the sejmiki did not pass requests, addresses or petitions. They did not follow the example of the Chamber of Envoys and create additional informal sessions. In the political structure of the Duchy, there existed, however, another possibility for citizenship participation in public life. The department and district councils, appointed by the king from candidates chosen by the sejmiki, could become institutions where public activism and political reflection might develop at a local level. Among their responsibilities was the distribution of public liabilities among the districts, towns and estates, as well as discussion of local needs. Some councils tried to become centres of critical reflection on the government and political system. One such centre arose in connection with the Łomża Department Council. The mounting criticism of the civil service and belief in the bad condition of the state inclined Frederick Augustus, on 20 June 1810, to appoint a deputation to prepare plans for an ‘improvement of the country’s administration’. The Łomża Council then compiled a memorandum addressed directly to the throne. It contained proposals for increasing the powers of the Sejm affecting the way in which draft resolutions were prepared and introduced

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to sessions in the Chamber of Envoys. In January 1811 the Council of State, on the order of the king, issued its response to the Łomża demands. The Łomża councillors’ complaints against the civil service were deemed unfounded, and their restructuring proposals as an impediment to the government of the country. The Łomża Council was also instructed that it had not been appointed ‘to change the constitutional forms’. It could, on the other hand, contribute to making the civil service more efficient by providing the authorities with detailed information about the needs of the Department. The proposals contained in the Łomża Department Council’s position paper certainly flew in the face of the structural changes introduced in 1807.16 They reveal, however, the continued functioning within the Napoleonic system of a political culture moulded by the principles of noble democracy. For some of the Duchy’s citizens, substitutes for political activism were unofficial activities within the framework of the still functioning mechanisms of the noble clientele system. At that time, significant opportunities were still open to local and countrywide elites. Nepotism or protecting friends was regarded as the accepted norm rather than an abuse of influence. On the contrary, the practice of entrusting official posts to unknown professionals, such as those appointed by Łubieński, was perceived as a threatening desire to exercise power with the aid of ‘hirelings’ loyal to their protector. The Duchy era was perhaps the last period when an elite privileged by birth and landed property was able to exercise so much influence over administrative appointments.17 After 1815 this operated on a considerably reduced scale. The career path of an official in the civil service and the speed of his promotion still depended to some extent on patronage; the most important decisions, however, were now taken within civil service structures. The process of freeing the bureaucracy from private influence stemmed from changes to the political system; however, the need for improvised action at the time when the Polish authorities were being set up in the Duchy favoured the mobilization of mechanisms familiar from the old clientele system. With time, these mechanisms grew progressively weaker as the bureaucratic apparatus became professionalized. An important factor could have been the emergence of a new generation of civil servants less closely connected with local clients, thinking more in terms of the state, and identifying much more with its institutions than with a local patron or traditional community of citizens. Perhaps this aspect of change, along with the size of the civil service and its wide-ranging powers, was another reason for some noblemen’s dislike of officials. A way of functioning in politics outside the institutions envisaged by the constitution, although in keeping with the law, lay in press debate. This was initiated in 1807 by Staszic with the publication of his brochure O statystyce Polski (A Statistical Gazetteer of Poland), which became the point of departure for an exchange of views published in the press on the political and cultural challenges facing Poles. In the following years, many authors took up threads raised by Staszic, including the very best, such as Kołłątaj, Niemcewicz and Surowiecki. The constitutional and social changes initiated by the Napoleonic model often meant that a seemingly neutral discussion, for example, on how to stimulate growth in manufacturing or trade, acquired a political dimension. Another way of publicizing views on the political and social realities was handwritten satire. At that time, there were several texts of this sort in circulation. More often than

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not they were malicious little verses mocking the shortcomings of the rulers, rather than serious works trying to depict the state under its new government. Political journalism and anonymous satire were ways of reaching out to and communicating with public opinion. It is hard to compare this concept to today’s mass consumption of information, to the buzz words, ideas or cultural models with which public life is bombarded. In the Duchy’s reality, an information community of this type did not exist. The collective reception of events was influenced by other factors: to a lesser degree by the press, to a greater by family, class and local tradition, the Church, school, experience gained during military service, and so on. In those days, public opinion – such as it was – was split to a much greater extent than nowadays into localized circles, focused on their own problems. This is not to say, however, that such circles did not absorb the main ideas and buzz words circulating in the wider community. Awareness must have been helped by the szlachta tradition of active citizenship, according to which even the poorest nobleman, as a participant in his local sejmik, brushed shoulders every so often with political life. This tradition also facilitated reception of ideas relevant to the community as a whole, such as the restoration of Poland. Public opinion at the time of the Duchy was not created merely by elites according to birth or intellect. Many intermediary milieus also existed in the transfer of information, thanks to which news of events and appraisals of the situation, sometimes distorted or simplified, reached the lower strata of society. In conditions where the reach of the printed word was limited, other opinion-forming circles must have been crucial – churches, for instance, where sermons and official communiqués were read out, or private meetings between individuals who mattered in their communities. Koźmian recalls with distaste how a group of radical malcontents would exchange critical remarks about the state of the country during private meetings in Warsaw’s Saxon Garden. In one of his poems, he also mentions inns and taverns, where enthusiastic patriots would politicize to the point of demagoguery. The most famous example of how public support could be decisive in political disputes was the clash between the wealthy nobleman Dominik Kuczyński and minister Łubieński. As Koźmian observes, Kuczyński was the personification of the traditional szlachcic: ‘He gained great popularity through his vociferous patriotism and lordly munificence.’ The source of the conflict was the harsh critique of Łubieński, accusing him of abusing power, contained in an open letter sent by Kuczyński to the Sejm. The style of political action chosen by Kuczyński was compatible with Polish tradition, but did not suit the new conditions. Under pressure from Łubieński, a court found Kuczyński guilty of insulting the minister and sentenced him to be flogged, as stipulated by the still binding Prussian penal law. The verdict of corporal punishment for a nobleman provoked an outcry. Many observers saw it as an example of a powerful and unpopular minister persecuting freedom of speech. ‘On the first day that [Kuczyński] appeared before the tribunal, the courtroom, the street and even the neighbouring streets were filled with people. It seemed as though revolution had broken out in Warsaw. Kuczyński was carried out on people’s arms and brought home in triumph,’ recorded Viridiana Fiszer. Who made up that crowd of supporters? Certainly the szlachta present in the capital, but also some of the townspeople. The uproar in the city, noted also by a French diplomat who described it as scandalous,

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led to the postponement of Kuczyński’s sentence. On the instruction of the king, the affair was referred to the Council of State, where some members hostile to Łubieński and worried about reactions on the street had no intention of supporting him. The sentence was quashed, while Polish laws guaranteeing the right of every citizen to free speech were reaffirmed.18 Apart from political initiatives undertaken within the confines outlined by the law, there was the area of clandestine, or rather semi-clandestine activity. Accusations were directed chiefly at suspected Russian supporters. Such alleged supporters in the Duchy of the Russian option were not a united political group with a fixed composition involved in active, clandestine political activities. They could be found in different contexts, while the extent of their opposition might vary depending on the development of the situation. The significance of this tendency in the Duchy did not depend, in my opinion, on the authority, influence or activism of the individuals supporting it – the majority of whom were located in the Russian Partition. The fears which it aroused among Napoleon’s most loyal followers arose rather from their awareness that, in case of increased dissatisfaction with Napoleon’s policy towards the Polish question, any initiative addressed to the Poles by Alexander I might attract many supporters to his side. The Russian tsar certainly had his followers in the Duchy. They were not especially active, however. To an extent, this was because they feared the prospect of a fratricidal struggle between Poles representing two competing options. Participation in actions against Napoleon’s protectorate exposed citizens of the Duchy to the charge of treason. Their readiness to engage on Russia’s side was also limited by fear of involvement in intelligence-gathering activities, which were regarded by many as unworthy of men of honour. Unwillingness to play the role of agent or provocateur led Adam Jerzy Czartoryski to reject the Warsaw mission proposed to him by Alexander I at the end of 1806. As he explained to Alexander, he could not undertake such a task without a concrete political proposal from the tsar, which he could put to the capital’s elite. Without it, this would not be a political mission but an anti-Napoleonic act of sabotage. At the beginning of 1811, however, Czartoryski accepted Alexander’s proposal. He agreed to hold secret talks with certain representatives of Warsaw’s ruling circles. This was a consequence of the changed political situation in Europe and a more concrete proposal from the tsar regarding the Polish question. The Peace of Tilsit was becoming increasingly burdensome for him. From the point of view of the Russian elite, the Russian Empire, without any benefit to itself, was obliged to support Napoleon’s hegemony in Europe. Wounded imperial pride, fear of the growing might of the French emperor, as well as the possibility of the Duchy of Warsaw’s territorial expansion, which would threaten Russia, inclined Alexander to break his pact with Napoleon and take the strategic initiative. Alexander’s war plans, in which Russia was to attack Napoleon first, were drawn up in St Petersburg all the more readily since part of Napoleon’s army was in Spain, and an opportunity was perceived to take a large proportion of the German territories before Napoleon would be able to transfer the majority of his forces. Time was of the essence, and Alexander therefore attached great importance to the attitude of Poles living in the Duchy of Warsaw. Their collaboration with the Russian army would be a propaganda coup for the tsar. Above all, however,

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it removed the risk of Russian forces becoming involved in damaging and delaying conflicts in the eastern approaches to the German core territories, thus delaying their march westward. Czartoryski was to take soundings among Warsaw’s elite on the prospect of restoring Poland under the aegis of Russia. His mission alarmed his closest family. His mother appealed to him: ‘Have mercy, … don’t get too deeply involved, and above all don’t give the impression you are an agent.’ The fears of the Czartoryskis, associated since 1809 with the Napoleonic option of the Duchy’s rulers, were well founded. Already in 1810, Serra referred in a report to the ‘unguarded conversations’ conducted by Prince Adam Jerzy at Puławy. Leaks about the soundings threatened to compromise Adam Jerzy politically, and thus undermine the restored political position of his family among Napoleon’s supporters. The outcome of the conversations held by Czartoryski failed to satisfy the tsar. In March 1811 Czartoryski informed him that the hopes Poles had invested in Napoleon meant that plans to draw them into the Russia camp were doomed at the current time. He indicated, however, the possible advantages in the tussle for Polish minds of granting the Polish lands a form of autonomy under Russian control. A few weeks later, Alexander I instructed Michał Kleofas Ogiński, a former insurrectionary activist and émigré, to compile an initial memorandum on the political structure of an autonomous Lithuania. Several important representatives of the Polish elite in the Russian Partition contributed to the work. In May 1811 the draft was ready. It proposed introducing a separate civil service and system of law to the Polish-speaking guberniyas. Work resumed on the draft in the autumn. This time it also contained a proposal for the political structure of a Kingdom of Poland restored by Alexander I. A change in the balance of power at the court in St Petersburg, however, affected the future of the project. With the prospect of conflict with Napoleon looming, the tsar chose to rely on an influential group of dignitaries and generals opposed to any plans for an autonomous Lithuania or a restored Poland. It is not known whom exactly Czartoryski spoke to in Warsaw. He was presumably in touch with Matuszewicz, a close associate of Puławy, Minister of Internal Affairs Tadeusz Mostowski, and perhaps also Stanisław Kostka Potocki. He certainly held talks with Prince Józef, whose opinion proved to be decisive. Besides, Poniatowski himself informed Napoleon soon afterwards of the possibility of Alexander playing the Polish card, without revealing the source of his information. We also know nothing of the direction taken by Czartoryski’s conversations. We may suppose that Czartoryski, while remaining a supporter of Poland’s restoration by Alexander I but fearing the sincerity of Alexander’s intentions, did not so much urge his interlocutors to abandon Napoleon, as persuade them to work together and consider which option promised the greater chance of success at that moment.19 Representatives of the Duchy’s political elite may have been persuaded to take part in the talks not only by hopes of a return to the political tradition of the Third of May Constitution, to which supporters of Alexander strove to refer. The state of the country filled them with anxiety, while one glance at the political situation in Europe might have convinced them that the Polish question had become stuck in an impasse. In 1810 information reached the Duchy of a statement made by a French minister, in which he

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declared that the emperor had never had any intention of restoring Poland. This fitted with information about a convention being concluded between Russian and France. One of its articles stated that ‘the Kingdom of Poland will never be restored’. Napoleon eventually refused to ratify it, but the Polish political elite had cause to be anxious. The emperor’s marriage to Marie Louise, indicating a tightening of bonds with Austria, was interpreted by some as heralding a longer period of stabilization in European relations based on Napoleon’s understanding with the courts of two partitioning powers: Russia and Austria. It seemed to diminish the chance of the Polish lands ever being reunited. The mood in the Duchy was exacerbated by the effects of the Continental System, tax burdens and the enormous cost of maintaining the army and upgrading fortresses. The state Treasury could not afford to maintain the army. Officers originally resident in the Russian Partition began to resign from its ranks, threatened by a Russian announcement that their property would be confiscated. Zamoyski, who left for Paris in March ostensibly to convey official congratulations on the occasion of Napoleon’s marriage, was in reality to canvass for part of the army to remain on the French payroll and for merchants in Danzig to be given licences to sell Polish corn to England. According to many, the state was on the brink of bankruptcy and disintegration. Such opinions were not totally exaggerated. Rumours of a secret plot, supposedly organized towards the end of 1809, also contributed to the sense of threat or disorientation prevailing among the Duchy’s political elite. On the basis of frugal accounts written down years later, it appears to have linked certain dissatisfied Polish colonels and generals with groups of malcontents in Saxony, and even secret anti-Napoleonic organizations in other German states. The most active participants were Colonel Feliks Potocki and the Saxon Minister of Foreign Affairs, Friedrich Senfft von Pilsach. Potocki, founder and commander of the 4th Infantry Regiment fighting in Spain, made no secret of his critical view of the war and Napoleon’s policy. Returning home after resigning his commission, he met Senfft, who was convinced that Saxony’s status as a Napoleonic satellite did nothing to enhance its prosperity, in Dresden. The fruit of their conversation was allegedly a plan to trigger an insurrection, which would lead to the restoration of Poland within its pre-First Partition borders. Apparently, it was to include the lands of the Russian Partition and the Duchy. The chances of success were supposedly enhanced by France’s engagement in Spain and Russia’s in the war with Turkey. Of crucial importance was the presence of Saxon and Polish regiments in several fortress garrisons along the Vistula and Oder. The plotters were relying on the neutrality of Austria. Kościuszko was proposed as commander of the insurrectionary forces, while diplomacy was to be led by Czartoryski. Potocki’s death as well as a failed harvest, which hampered supplies to the army, caused the date to be postponed for a year. By the summer of 1812, on the eve of Napoleon’s war against Russia, the insurrection no longer made political sense. It is hard to assess the reliability of accounts of the plot. The person who had most to gain from an insurrection breaking out in the summer of 1811 was Alexander I. It would have been convenient for him as the anticipated anti-Napoleonic act of sabotage, and sign that the Poles were crossing to his side. The lack of reliable sources means that Potocki’s plot remains an episode shrouded in mystery leaving much room for conjecture. It is possible the conspirators’ actions never reached an advanced stage,

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and were more initial consultations among a group of malcontents than a full-blown armed conspiracy.20 Among those implicated in the plot, names of former republicans were mentioned. This is hardly surprising. These supporters of Napoleon and the political system embodied in his constitution functioned in the Duchy’s political life as an opposition group – not against the fundamental principles of the system, but against the ruling circle of aristocrats and wealthy szlachta. Deprived of influence over the government, they could not count on acquiring it through the support of politically feeble townsmen or minor szlachta who remained under the influence of local leaders. In this situation, one means of building up their own position was to seek the protection of the French residents in the Duchy. They likewise sought allies among circles critical of the Council of State. Such tactics lay behind the – apparently puzzling – cooperation between former radicals and a malcontent nobleman such as Kuczyński, or their collaboration with aristocratic opponents of the Council of State defending the structural separateness of Galicia after the war of 1809. The former Jacobins at the time of the Duchy were more like a pre-modern political formation than a modern party. The twists and turns in their tactics are a good illustration of the problems confronting attempts to analyse the political scene during this period. Historians have identified several such pressure groups: advocates of moderate reforms in the spirit of the Four Years Sejm, former Jacobins, clergy hostile to Napoleonic legislation, aristocratic coteries, or factions in the army associated with individual generals. Their composition, significance and aims varied depending on the development of the situation. Observed from this perspective, the image of the Duchy’s political life is far from clear. We get better results by attempting to examine the most important areas of debate, and identifying areas of possible compromise or disagreement. The fundamental political dividing line was the attitude to Napoleon as protector of the Duchy, and to the issue of Poland’s future restoration. The Napoleonic solution was accepted, with more or less enthusiasm, by that part of the aristocracy and szlachta connected with the reforming tradition of the Four Years Sejm, as well as by former Jacobins and legionaries. It was opposed by those who pinned their political hopes on the person of Alexander I. In the Duchy, until 1809, these were associated with the milieu of Puławy. However, after the Duchy’s annexation of part of Galicia, the Czartoryskis – with the exception of Adam Jerzy – and their supporters were clearly seeking their place in Napoleon’s camp. Many who supported Napoleon’s aim to restore Poland, such as Niemcewicz, were nevertheless critical of the expansionism of Napoleonic France or, like Stanisław Małachowski, had serious reservations about the introduction to the Duchy of the Napoleonic Code and French political structures. Father Jan Paweł Woronicz, a state councillor who occupied an important place in the elite circle of power, admired Napoleon as a leader and future reviver of Poland, according to Koźmian, but did not set great store by the Napoleonic system of power and its institutions. Further examples may be found. The Napoleonic principle of strengthening the monarchy and executive power of the state, on the other hand, was accepted by some advocates of Poland’s restoration with the aid of Alexander I. After the creation of the Duchy,

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some recognized, however, that all forms of pro-Russian political activity should be suspended, so as not to deepen the division between supporters of either option. On the eve of the granting of the Duchy’s constitution, one of Adam Jerzy Czartoryski’s collaborators in the Russian Partition appealed to him: ‘You ought to withdraw completely and openly. Your role is finished. … This is how all Poles in Russian service should behave.’21 Elementary loyalty to one’s compatriots in the Duchy required, in his view, resignation from activities in support of the Russian option. Divisions between the options were rather fluid, and identification with one or other did not necessarily imply total denial of the patriotism of the opposing side. The limited extent of the Duchy’s sovereignty provided many observers with cause for dissatisfaction. Critical remarks, however, did not usually stretch beyond discreet conversations in government corridors or coffee house quarrels. Not only the Duchy’s ruling elite, but also a significant proportion of its critics, accepted without great loss of countenance the fact that in all important matters, they had to await decisions from Paris. Acceptance stemmed from a realistic assessment of the situation – even larger and more powerful states did not enjoy the status of equal partner in relations with France. Experience of not having their own state also reconciled them to this state of affairs. Even its surrogate seemed better than the situation before 1806. In the country’s elite political circles, they also realized that among the European powers that determined the balance of power, only France had taken any significant initiative towards resolving the Polish question. Napoleon’s protectorate, though often onerous, was the condition that confirmed the continued existence of the Duchy and its potential transformation into the Kingdom of Poland. Acceptance of lack of sovereignty might also have stemmed from the political mentality of the Polish elite. The final decades of the pre-partition era had accustomed its representatives to operate in conditions of a foreign protectorate. In the Duchy, Napoleon had assumed the position of Catherine II. Experience of lack of sovereignty made it easier to be reconciled to the situation. Acceptance of limited – from today’s perspective – sovereignty was also expressed by supporters of the Russian option, when they agreed to entrust Polish foreign policy to Alexander I as ruler of Russia. This readiness to relinquish crucial state powers to a foreign monarch or protector could also be connected with a different (from today), more gradual, understanding of the idea of ‘independence’. Attitudes to the Duchy of groups interested in political life also stemmed from their memories of the Commonwealth. The model of the state based on a balance of power between king and Sejm was replaced by a centralized system, in which the executive power dominated parliament and what remained of local government institutions. The new system, associated with despotism, aroused the hostility of parts of the szlachta. Signs of this may be found in French reports from the autumn of 1807. Resident Vincent claimed that the new order could reckon on the support of the minor szlachta, sections of the military and wealthy townspeople. The aristocracy and wealthy szlachta were generally against the constitution, the Napoleonic Code and the emancipation of the peasants. These groups were keen to regain their fatherland with the emperor’s help, but a fatherland in which they would continue to play the dominant role. Marshal Davout gave a similar assessment of the situation. He appended a memorandum to

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one of his reports from October 1807 which included an analysis of the atmosphere in the Duchy. Its author (no doubt from the Polish Jacobin circle) maintained that there were two main parties. The first consisted of the majority of great noble families and their clients. According to the author, these included a predominance of people easily won over by the courts of the partitioning powers. They were in favour of maintaining serfdom, which they regarded as the basis of their fortune and importance. This group would happily exploit French help in restoring their state, provided the old oligarchic system of government was reintroduced. The sympathies of this group, however, inclined towards Russia, which was able to guarantee the endurance of serfdom and feudal privileges. On the other hand, the author of the memorandum characterized the other party favourably. It included a relatively small section of the aristocracy prepared to move with the spirit of the times. Its core supporters, however, were the minor szlachta and townsmen hostile to domination by the great families. Only this group would provide genuine support to Napoleon in the Duchy of Warsaw. It is worth noting, however, that neither Vincent nor Davout was fully apprised at first of Polish realities. Their views were formed under the heavy influence of former Jacobins, embittered by their removal from power and wishing to discredit their opponents. From the spring of 1808 onwards, the universal hostility of Polish aristocrats towards the new order rarely features in the correspondence of French dignitaries.22 No doubt by this time they were better acquainted with the country’s specifics and did not exaggerate the level of prevailing dissatisfaction. In reality, a large proportion of the szlachta had reason to recognize certain elements of the new system as necessary and beneficial. Among its enlightened elite – irrespective of the political differences dividing them – a critical view had prevailed since the end of the eighteenth century of the country’s poor cultural level. Raising it was difficult without an efficiently functioning state. Approval for the new model of the state was therefore not limited to the group of Jacobins sympathetic to French patterns. A similar view was held by a significant proportion of the ruling elite. Representatives of this milieu, associated with the tradition of the Third of May Constitution, had accepted a different system than the one proposed by that constitution, for several reasons. Regaining their own state as the primary aim of their activities required reconciling themselves to the form of government imposed by the protector of the Polish question. Meanwhile, some szlachta and aristocracy had been convinced for a long time of the advantages flowing from centralized power. This was the result of comparing the political systems of the mighty partitioning powers with that of the weak Commonwealth. Acceptance of new models of the state was also facilitated by Enlightenment political thought, in which centralization was usually associated with progress and modernity, and decentralization with backwardness. The constitution conferred by Napoleon gave the Polish elite a chance to step beyond the crisis of the state, which had lasted for generations, and exercise effective government without pressure from coteries or having to tolerate demagoguery in the Sejm and local sejmiki. Opportunities for self-sufficient government were increased by the fact that the king remained permanently in Saxony.23 The new political system also contained, however, many controversial resolutions. In discussions about the Napoleonic Code, divisions appeared that did not necessarily

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coincide with differences in political opinion or access to power. Advocates of the Code included Jacobins as well as parts of the aristocracy and szlachta who perceived the advantages of a modern, cohesive system of law. At the same time, however, the separation of the marriage act from the sacraments provoked the criticism of many sections of society. The difference in character between the new law and Polish native tradition was likewise emphasized – Polish law had defined only general principles of court procedure and left judges with considerable freedom of interpretation. Opponents of the Code were not limited to the clergy or noble traditionalists. Opposition appeared even among the powerful elite, concentrated around its mentor, Stanisław Małachowski.24 Criticism of the organization of the government, the unclear distribution of powers among the various authorities and the ‘despotic’ style of the civil service were regular topics in discussions about the functioning of the new system. With time, the difficult economic situation, felt especially painfully by landowners, and the crisis in public finances exerted an ever greater influence on the collective mood. No one was in any doubt that the state was functioning badly. The first phase of discussion culminated during the Sejm sessions of 1809. Following the war with Austria, the debate revived. The expansion of the state to include regions where the wealthy szlachta played a significant role reinforced tendencies in public opinion critically disposed towards the Duchy’s political system. In this situation, the argument over the principles according to which Galicia should be annexed became one of the incentives driving discussion of how the existing state of affairs in the Duchy might be improved. Criticism of the government and certain aspects of the system also came from sections of the clergy. Tensions arose between Church and state because of their different understandings of what was meant by a state religion, which, according to the constitution, was Roman Catholicism. The clergy interpreted this as meaning the dominant religion, but the government merely as the requirement to employ Catholic rites during state ceremonies. The requisitioning of Church buildings for the needs of the army also gave rise to conflicts. The main areas of dispute, however, concerned certain paragraphs of the Napoleonic Code. The consequences of the view of marriage envisioned by the Code provoked objections from priests. The problem was not the number of civil marriages (in 1811 there were fewer than twenty in the entire Duchy), but belief that the new law would violate the foundations of faith and morality. In addition, this would happen with the connivance of priests themselves, since the government, lacking sufficient official personnel, had decided to exploit the longestablished existing network of parishes and entrust many priests with the duties of lay registrars, thus requiring them to register births and deaths as well as conduct civil marriages and divorces. Controversy was also prompted by the ban, sometimes enforced by officials with excessive zeal, on baptisms taking place before a child had been entered in the civil register, which meant that some newborn babies died before they had been baptized. Priests also complained about having to read from the pulpit new laws or instructions from prefects. Acknowledging the government’s argument that rulers in Poland had communicated with citizens via the pulpit for centuries, they claimed that those in power had never had so much to communicate. According to some priests, churches

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had thereby lost their sacred character. Concealed behind the argument about reading announcements, was no doubt the fear shared by some priests that the executive power was trying to reduce the role played in the state by religion and the clergy. The tendency to reinforce the authority of state power in relation to the clergy was clearly evident already during the Four Years Sejm.25 In the new conditions prevailing in the Duchy, the tendency also stemmed from a desire to utilize priests in the creation of the modern state apparatus. This pragmatic solution to the staffing problems of the administration might create conditions conducive to subordinating clergy to the authority of the state – which some people were hoping for – or at least to diminishing the clergy’s influence. The sequestration of Church lands on behalf of the state by the former Prussian authorities, in exchange for so-called compensation paid to priests, was upheld. Estimates of such payments, like tax duties and obligations for the upkeep of the army, were also the subject of protests from the religious authorities. On the basis of complaints levelled at the secular authorities by the clergy, one might get the impression that their authors felt the Church was being oppressed. Their letters, however, were interventionist actions in contentious situations, and hence for obvious reasons an impression emerges more of conflict than coexistence. In reality, both the secular and regular clergy contributed enormously to organizing the foundations of the state in 1806–7. Many accepted without reservation Napoleon as the candidate for ‘saviour’ of Poland and joined the stream of pro-Napoleonic propaganda activities launched by the authorities. There were also, though less common, priests who welcomed the prospect of social change and were ready to accept a new formula for Church–state relations. A group of radicals in cassocks sympathetic to the Jacobins had already emerged at the time of the insurrection. A number of priests joined the Society of Polish Republicans in subsequent years. Radical or reforming sympathies among sections of the clergy must have survived in 1807, since one priest in a discussion in the press about the Duchy’s needs, convinced of the need to rid the priesthood of its ‘faults and excesses’, proposed that it should be brought under state control. He claimed that since ‘the century of Napoleon the Great had revealed the great truth that the priesthood is part of the nation and belongs to the country’s officials’, a special minister ‘for the priesthood’ should be put in charge of it: ‘Seeing the priesthood functioning under the eye of the government, no one will say that it is unnecessary, or not useful to the country. … We will be better under the eye of the government,’ he concluded optimistically. Senior clergy were not enthusiastic about such proposals. From reports sent to the king by bishops, there emerged an image of a land where civil servants demoralized the faithful by tolerating public demonstrations of atheism, and restricted access to the priesthood by forbidding men to take holy orders without the permission of the prefecture. The act of consecration was to be preceded by an interview, so that the candidate’s education, moral qualifications, and knowledge of the law and political system might be assessed. Archbishop Ignacy Raczyński of Gniezno requested the king, in the name of the bishops, to punish ostentatious expressions of atheism or lack of respect for religion, and order civil servants to participate in the religious part of state ceremonies, since even hypocrisy, though ‘abhorrent’, did not have such a pernicious effect on the people as ‘flagrant unbelief in public officials’. The role of religion and the

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priesthood was to be enhanced by entrusting monks with a number of schools – this proposal was supported by the argument, in the spirit of the times, that in this way, monks would be made more useful to society. The bishops proposed abandoning the practice of examining candidates for the priesthood by prefecture officials. They also requested that the authorities should instruct citizens that civil marriage was not a substitute for the sacrament of marriage and civil divorce was not synonymous with canonical annulment, and that priests should be relieved of carrying out the duties of secular registrars in this area. Some of the bishops’ demands were answered. After the intervention of the king, officials were instructed to inform citizens that civil marriage did not replace the sacraments. Clergy carrying out the functions of registrars were relieved of having to marry divorced persons or announce divorces transacted by a secular court. Priests were also allowed to baptize newborns before their births had been registered by the secular authorities. There were two levels on which the Church and the secular authorities interacted. Contacts with the king, well known for his piety, and some of his ministers were based on partnership. Relations between the Church and the local authorities were much more confrontational. This situation arose because of clergy being overloaded with the tasks of secular registrars or the burden of passing on information. Sometimes matters took on grotesque proportions, thereby giving rise to suspicion of deliberate desecration of the role of priests, such as the instruction – shocking to many – that priests were to announce from the pulpits a ban on rearing rabbits and piglets indoors, for reasons of hygiene. The belief of many priests that the secular authorities were abusing their powers was confirmed by numerous examples of excessive official zeal. One was the instruction sent by Gliszczyński, prefect of the Bydgoszcz Department, to Raczyński stating that ‘priests, who lacked the talent to preach, should read to the people sermons composed by enlightened classical authors, instead of their own imperfect tales’. The confrontation between the attitudes and rights of clergy and civil servants also resulted from the clash between Commonwealth tradition, with its model of the Church as an influential institution independent of the state, and the Napoleonic system, in which the Church struggled to maintain its former status. A certain sharpening of relations was prompted by the Enlightenment anticlericalism of some of the ruling elite or local officials, causing them to regard the clergy as a group perpetuating prejudice, as well as useless to society. The clergy, meanwhile, were pushed towards confrontation by their feeling of being threatened by anticlerical slogans. A more important factor was perhaps their exaggerated view of the government’s toleration of society’s growing indifference towards religion. This was no doubt why bishops’ memoranda contained requests for declared atheists to be barred from employment in public positions, or authors of anti-religious pamphlets to be punished.26 Conflict in relations between Church and state was not however permanent. In some areas of public life, the Church replaced the state apparatus – not only in the running of civic registry offices, but also in elementary schools in parishes, hospitals or asylums. The clergy certainly identified with the drive to restore Poland. It supported the formation of a national army through both obligatory and voluntary contributions. It played an important role in propagandist activities recommended by the government,

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explaining the constitution to the faithful from the pulpit, or teaching patriotism and obligations towards the fatherland. Saying prayers for Napoleon’s victories also did not inspire controversy among priests. Given the state’s difficult situation, this kind of support from a Church that continued to be extraordinarily influential, was very important to the secular authorities. Priests did not so much quarrel with the state itself, as have a different vision of its relationship with the Church. Despite existing differences, both priests and the governing elite showed considerable common sense and tried to reach a rational compromise in their relations. Criticism by priests of certain elements in the political or legal system did not imply denial of the strategic advantages for Poles flowing from the Napoleonic option.27 A typical example was Woronicz, mentioned above, who praised the Emperor of the French in his sermons as the Resurrector of Poland, but at the same time criticized particular elements of the Napoleonic system in the Duchy. This type of criticism must have struck a chord with the mood of more traditional sections of the szlachta. The mood was conveyed by one of the anonymous satirical commentaries circulating in the Duchy in manuscript (‘A Catechism issued by the Creator [Napoleon] …’). It emphasizes the glaring decline in morality and manners. The government is viciously attacked and its only aim claimed to be robbery of citizens duped by the slogan of love for the fatherland. The satire accuses freemasonry of exerting behind-the-scenes influence on power. Because of its excesses, the civil service is branded a clique of thieves and embezzlers. The brutal attack on new groups of rich financiers and contractors demonstrates perhaps feelings of powerlessness in the face of processes of social transformation. The author’s belief that the whole state system of the Duchy is depraved and alien to national tradition is clear. The satire regards the foundations of the political system – the constitution, described as ‘a child born abroad in uncertain wedlock, of father Despotism, and mother Cunning’, as well as the Napoleonic Code – as foreign. The Sejm is deemed to be merely ‘a shadow of former Sejms’ obediently approving the high taxes demanded by the government.28 The satire was addressed to ‘honest, right thinking, ancient Poles’, whom the author most likely envisaged as primarily provincial szlachta. The number of recipients sharing his opinions could have been considerable. Similar assessments of the system and administration circulating in the wider circles of public opinion may be confirmed by the testimony given to the Russian authorities by Captain Wincenty Dłuski, who resigned in 1811 from the Duchy’s army and illegally crossed the Russian border. Interrogated by Russian intelligence, Dłuski expressed his wish to enter the service of Alexander I – the only ruler capable of restraining Napoleon’s growing domination and of restoring Poland. Among the reasons that led Dłuski to abandon his military service, he listed Napoleon’s despotism, which meant that military service was no longer compatible with moral principles: ‘Napoleon’s violence is a universal evil.’ The main reason, however, was his belief that the political system forced on Poles was having a negative effect on the national spirit, in which ‘any concern for the public good, the virtues of our ancestors, magnanimity, hospitality, openness’ had been extinguished. Oppressed by taxes, the citizens sustained ‘a swarm of officials and troops’, while a mass of ‘upstarts, converted Jews and the most contemptible people’ lorded over public offices. The transformations taking place in the Duchy brought with them, according

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to Dłuski, the threat of ‘debasement’ of all social groups under semblance of equality. Observing the situation in the country as well as Napoleon’s policies had led him to the conclusion that the Duchy was more ‘a French colony than the embryo of an independent Poland’.29 Dłuski may be regarded as a patriot with conservative views disillusioned by Napoleon, though he accepted the principle of equality before the law. References to the works of Enlightenment philosophers demonstrate that he was an educated man. It does not seem his views were exclusively the result of his own ruminations. We may surmise that they reflected the mood of the environment in which the captain moved before he left the Duchy. The value of his views for the historian stems, in my view, from the fact that in leaving the country and breaking with the Napoleonic orientation, he could openly express all his charges against Napoleon’s protectorate. He was able to make use of greater freedom of speech than the majority of malcontents remaining in the Duchy, who were constrained by censorship, by fear of repression, or by the conviction that one should patiently tolerate the faults of the new state in order to keep alive the chance of restoring Poland thanks to Napoleon’s support. Open criticism of the Duchy’s laws and state institutions was not easy. These were after all the work of Napoleon. Reason of state called for a cautious approach. This also applied to the opposition. Hence, during Sejms, the opposition’s main objects of attack were the exorbitant taxes, liabilities in support of the army, poor functioning of the civil service and courts, abuses of officials or unsuitability of the new laws and institutions to Polish reality. It is interesting that similar criticisms of the Duchy’s political system and institutions appear in the writings of individuals linked to the ruling elite, such as the unpublished reflections of Kajetan Koźmian on the subject of the judiciary. This senior secretary to the Council of State underlined how the spirit of foreign rule had entered the judiciary along with the new legal system. Positions in the judiciary were occupied by lawyers and civil servants, who indeed understood the binding procedures, but not the substance of the law. The new laws and organization of the justice system were incomprehensible to the majority of people, a situation which was conducive to consolidating the ‘sect of lawyers’, who worked mainly for their own interests. Koźmian, like many contemporary authors, considered that the ‘spirit of the nation’ was shaped by the existing form of government. Hence, he concluded – similarly to Dłuski – that the way in which the justice system now functioned, as he had described it, threatened to obliterate the former spirit of citizenship.30 Koźmian’s views mirrored the opinions of that part of the Duchy’s political elite which assessed negatively the suitability of French models to Polish reality. The only guarantee of successful legal opposition, however, could be through extending the powers of the Sejm and strengthening its role in the state. Work in this direction was begun during the Sejm of 1809, when interpolations on the level of taxes and attempts to discuss the introduction of the Napoleonic Code appeared in the Chamber of Envoys. Impressed by the mood in the Chamber of Envoys and by warnings from ministers of the catastrophic state of the country, Frederick Augustus appointed a deputation in June 1810 consisting of members of the Council of State. Its task was to examine the way in which the Duchy was administered and come up with remedies for improvement. News of this spurred the Łomża Department Council to civic

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action. As mentioned above, the council sent a memorandum to the ruler containing proposals relating to issues outside its powers, including the proposal that draft bills submitted to the Chamber of Envoys should be presented beforehand not only to Sejm commissions but to all envoys and commune deputies. In addition, it was suggested that the government should present a detailed budget. This would allow the obligations falling on departments to be compared, and the Council of State to be informed of local resources and needs. The acceptance of such solutions would strengthen the position of the Sejm and increase the powers of department councils, which would then be able to control the activities of local officials. The Warsaw Department Council followed in the footsteps of the Łomża Council, calling for representatives of the individual departments to be included in the deputation appointed by the king. Along with the Płock Department Council, it also proposed that the extent of ministers’ responsibility for the decisions taken by them should be clearly defined. The Council of State categorically rejected the proposals of the department councils. The specific nature of the political situation in the Duchy poses problems, however, for the historian, since voices critical of the state’s functioning also came from ruling circles. One gets the impression that the state was run by some vaguely defined ‘they’ – and that government was bad. The rulers themselves realized the need for change. The report of the Council of State deputation, delivered in 1811, prompted protests nevertheless from Łubieński and Poniatowski, whose ministries were subject to severe criticism. The detailed report pointed out ‘flaws and imperfections’ in the civil service – sluggishness and chaos in its operation as well as there being too many officials. The main reason for the malfunctioning of the state machine was acknowledged to be misguided ‘organization of the whole administrative system’ and unclear dividing lines between the responsibilities of individual ministers. Department councillors must have been pleased with some of the deputation’s proposals. It proposed extending the powers of department councils and of the Sejm by allowing them to inform the king of ministers’ activities, increased control over the civil service in the provinces, as well as greater input from citizens in the selection of officials. It also suggested a reduction in the size of the standing army and civil administration, in order to cover the gigantic deficit in state finances. There was also a proposal on the need to adapt the Napoleonic Code to Polish conditions (e.g. the recognition of church weddings as sufficient for Catholics). The proposals were accompanied by arguments skilfully tempering criticism of the Napoleonic system. The authors stated that the laws bestowed by Napoleon were excellent. Considering, however, the differences in cultural development between France and the Duchy, it should be admitted that ‘for these so perfect laws, we are not yet sufficiently perfect’.31 The view of the state’s condition contained in the deputation’s report did not fundamentally differ from that of oppositionists in the Sejm. The latter were especially vociferous during the Sejm of 1811, when they criticized again the poorly prepared introduction of the Napoleonic Code, complicated judicial procedures, high taxes and expansion of the civil service. As a means of reducing state taxes, they recommended at least a partial return to unpaid civil service posts filled by candidates elected by the citizenry. Opponents of the government also attempted to increase the political role of the Sejm. Exceeding their rights as envoys, ‘trusting in the paternal kindness of the

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ruler’, they sent him a written request indicating the need for reforms. Declaring their readiness to make patriotic sacrifices, the majority of Sejm envoys expressed their fear ‘of the monstrous collapse of the state, worse than anything’, brought about by the disintegration of the relationships uniting the community of citizens. In observations similar to Dłuski’s, or even the caustic formulas of the anti-Napoleonic satire, the envoys stated: ‘The bonds uniting the national community are being torn apart. The true order consistent with the interests of our country has disappeared, and for the sake of introducing a new one, all the principles of the centuries-old order are being toppled.’ Traditional customs, morality and religion were collapsing, while the szlachta ‘because of the introduction of unsuitable laws … was in danger of losing any notion of the honour, dignity and qualities characteristic of its estate’. Handicrafts, trade and agriculture were likewise collapsing, because of ‘the ever increasing chaos’. The ‘labyrinth of laws’ unsuited to the state of the country had facilitated the rise of ‘an oligarchy endangering both throne and inhabitants’.32 The fact that the king accepted a letter from the Sejm incompatible with its powers may be regarded as a mark of the opposition’s success. Discussion about reforming the state eventually died down, however, as a new chance for restoring the Kingdom of Poland appeared along with the approaching war of 1812. The political controversies dividing public life arose from conflicting attitudes to tradition and innovation, as well as to the scope and progress of reform. There were several different approaches, roughly speaking, to the idea of the state. The political system of the Duchy was accepted enthusiastically by former Jacobins. It was likewise supported by sections of the aristocracy and szlachta who accepted the model of centralized power as well as the social transformations associated with the new system. Circles wedded to Polish tradition – especially legal tradition – adopted a more critical stance. Enthusiasm waned with time, and more and more faults were perceived in the new model of the state, even in ruling circles. The conclusion to the Council of State deputation report of 1811 is worth noting. Its authors attempted to reconcile recognition for the merits of the new system with a need for reform formulated in conservative tones. They noted that in assessing the functioning of the state apparatus, they had taken into account ‘the spirit, in which today’s societies are transformed’. They emphasized, however, that in admiring what was new, people should not forget about ‘preserving and nurturing the national character, former virtues, noble customs’, since ‘nature and time have left their marks, which cannot be smoothed over without harming many generations – and neither was it right to do so’.33 It seems that the ‘national character’ mentioned above expressed itself above all in attachment to the model citizen active on various levels of public life, deeply rooted in the political mentality of the szlachta. This was observed in 1807 by the French resident Vincent, albeit in caricature-like form, when he wrote in his report about Poles’ liking for ‘anarchic freedoms’, evident in the creation of collegiate bodies, constant debates and questioning of instructions: ‘Here they like deliberating bodies and collegiate administration. They interpret instructions, do not carry them out without protest, and often do not carry them out at all.’ The French diplomat mistook the form for the substance. Attachment to collegiate forms and discussions stemmed from a need to feel involved in matters affecting the

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state. Among the opposition, of which envoy Godlewski became the symbol, it is possible to discern a desire to build on the structural principles introduced by the Third of May Constitution. This constitution had been not so much an act petrifying the social and political structures of the Commonwealth, as one that might begin a process of transformation. Such evolution had been interrupted by the partitions, while the political structure of the Duchy was far removed from the principles of 1791. Opposition proposals, like the suggestions of the 1811 deputation, aimed at a partial return to them. The oppositionists’ harsh attack on Łubieński, the most criticized of the Duchy’s ministers, was an attempt to strike at an unpopular politician, who had zealously introduced the new legal system. The Minister of Justice and his young colleagues were characterized by a new type of thinking about the state – one that was strong and efficient, that is, centralized, which could act as arbiter between different political forces or promote the advancement of particular social groups. There is no doubt that for many people, this was a tempting vision. The advantages flowing from a system that relied on a well-developed professional bureaucracy were appreciated by parts of the poorer nobility, persuaded not only by the vision of a strong state, but also by their own personal interest – salaries received in return for their work in civil service posts provided compensation for income lost from their own estates or tenancies. In the clash between two visions of the state and citizenship, advocates of Napoleonic centralization might have felt they represented the avant-garde of progress and were the only people able to see the country’s problems in their true proportions. The Council of State’s castigating reply to the memorandum from the Łomża Department Council contained the statement that ‘only the government can know the needs of the whole’, while citizens admitted into partnership with it ‘would become obstacles to good management at its very source’. Plans for further consolidation of power flowed from similar thinking. In 1812, Łubieński, assuming that the imminent – or so people thought – restoration of Poland would force a change of constitution, presented the king with his own project. Cautioning against a return to the models of the Third of May Constitution, which would lead to ‘domination by the great lords’, he declared himself to be an advocate of a ‘strong kingdom’ based on the authority of the king. The minister’s proposal included the introduction of secret sessions of the Sejm, since their public visibility was conducive to the flourishing of demagoguery. Łubieński also proposed bans on unofficial discussions in the Sejm and on publication of envoys’ speeches. He suggested, however, that envoys might insert interpolations in matters relating to state finances. The emphasis placed by the minister on ensuring that the country had properly qualified officials is noteworthy: the constitution was to guarantee that only candidates who had passed public examinations should occupy civil service posts, since the principle of election by the citizenry would result in ‘the exclusion of the most talented officials and the appointment [to civil service posts] of lackeys’. Historian Marceli Handelsman regarded the minister’s proposals as an expression of Napoleonic ideas: ‘Not liberal, but democratic, against individual freedom, imbued with the spirit of the centralized bureaucratic state, training its citizens for public service as for military service, but depending on the principle of civic equality before the law’.34

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The political debate in the Duchy may be interpreted as a dispute between traditionalists and advocates of the centralized state. It may also be regarded as an early eruption of the quarrel between civil society and a meritocracy. It is worth stressing, however, the new language and new way of thinking about the state that accompanied these disputes. Participants clearly renounced the mistakes made by the former ‘Polish anarchy’. They were driven by fear of the ‘spirit of faction’, which could be exploited by neighbouring powers, and also by their desire to dismiss the stereotype, then functioning across Europe, of Poles as a nation incapable of possessing their own state. The authors of the Sejm letter to the king criticizing the Duchy’s government declared their attachment to the principle of strong central authority: ‘Sire! We wish you alone to rule us, … we ceased long ago to have any taste for the rule of aristocrats, because experience has taught us that it was they who were the perpetrators of anarchy in our land, they who inflict their magnate power and enduring family names on the political life of the nation and its [national] name.’ The authors stressed that their criticism of the bad organization of the state did not imply they wished to weaken its authority: ‘Our nation, worn down by calamities, is no longer a nation spoilt by excessive freedom. … It knows the whole horror of anarchy and the rigid yoke of foreign bondage.’ The envoys assured the king that they had renounced the ‘errors, which had brought [Poles] the annihilation of their national name’35 – therefore, the proposal to strengthen the role of the Sejm in the running of the state did not mean failure to accept strong government. Experience of the partitions prompted their acceptance of at least some of the recent structural changes. Those few years of the Duchy’s existence were a transitional period in several respects, a view confirmed by the attitude of both ruling circles and public opinion towards the new state’s laws and institutions. On the one hand, enthusiasm can be observed for the idea of strong authority as well as belief in an efficient, modern state administration – on the other, resistance in the name of tradition and a state better organized to suit the specific needs of the country. Disputes between the two sides were often heated. Controversies over the model of the state, which became ever more acute with time, are understandable if we take into account its difficult economic and political situation as well as the scale of the transformations beginning to take place.

9

1812–1815: ‘We will have no choice here …’

The first indications of Alexander I’s ambiguous attitude to the Tilsit accords reached Napoleon during the 1809 war. Initially, Napoleon took heed of Poniatowski’s warnings. For Napoleon, the alliance with Russia, which from his point of view stabilized conflicting influences and brought order to the situation in Europe, was of enormous significance. From the perspective of St Petersburg, however, the balance of power in Europe was changing more and more to Russia’s disadvantage. The territorial expansion of the Duchy of Warsaw after the Peace of Schönbrunn and Napoleon’s marriage to Marie Louise increased the Russian elite’s sense of threat, as it was convinced that these events were aimed at restoring Poland in the near future. Anticipating inevitable conflict, Russia began secret preparations for war already in 1810. A move that left no illusions as to the permanence of the Tilsit alliance was Russia’s virtual withdrawal from the continental blockade in December 1810. With time, Napoleon also began to examine the possibility of resolving the mounting conflict by military means. In October 1810, a general plan was already in place for organizing the army in case of war. An important factor influencing the emperor’s changed position was the ever growing number of intelligence reports about Alexander’s attempts to draw Poles onto his side. When in April 1811 these were confirmed in person by Poniatowski, ostensibly in Paris to convey Frederick Augustus’s congratulations on the occasion of the birth of the King of Rome, work had already been speeded up on Napoleon’s orders to complete the Modlin fortress in the Duchy. The prince was received with full honours at the imperial court, which was also meant to send a message to Russia. Apart from the court ceremonies, Poniatowski took part in consultations with Napoleon or his marshals on military preparations in the Duchy and conditions for conducting war in Russia. Marching routes for Napoleon’s individual corps were marked out across Prussia and the Duchy. Stores of food, weapons and other equipment as well as hospitals were organized in the fortresses. Napoleon and his commanders were aware of the challenges of the terrain in which the Grande Armée would have to operate. Enormous distances, scattered populations, very few towns and sparse road networks betokened difficulties in organizing supplies to the marching units. Poniatowski returned to the Duchy with orders to increase the number of Polish regiments and a new loan from Napoleon – too small, as it turned out, in relation to needs.1 The years 1810–11 were the most difficult in the Duchy’s history. To the state’s financial difficulties was added fear of what a Russian attack might pose to a Duchy unlikely to receive immediate help from Napoleon. In 1811 Russia closed its borders

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to woollen products emanating from the Duchy. In spring 1812 large expanses of the Duchy were afflicted by hunger, caused by the failed harvest. Economic problems aggravated the already difficult position of state finances. For several months during 1811, the Treasury possessed insufficient funds to pay civil service salaries and army wages. The situation led to frequent quarrels in the Council of State between Poniatowski and Minister of Finance Matuszewicz, who tried to control and limit state expenditure. In this state of affairs, the Duchy had to not only prepare its army for approaching war, but also make preparations for the passage of the Grande Armée. At enormous financial and administrative cost, regiments were replenished and fortresses strengthened. In spring 1811, 5,000 soldiers as well as several hundred stonemasons and carpenters were initially working on the fortifications at Modlin. In the second half of the year, almost 8,000 soldiers, 10,000 local peasants and over a thousand masons, carpenters and blacksmiths were commandeered. Disease spread among the workers and soldiers camped out in temporary accommodation, but the progress was nevertheless enormous. The task of supplying food to the fortresses and magazines marking the stages along the route taken by Napoleon’s corps, including guaranteeing provisions during their several weeks stay, fell to the Duchy, as it did to Prussia. In spring 1812 there were approximately 200,000 of Napoleon’s troops in the area between Toruń and Warsaw. Preparations for war devoured huge sums of money. The effects were felt for a long time – still on 31 August 1812, Stanisław Kostka Potocki described to ministers ‘the extreme state of the Duchy’s treasury, whose collapse … has finally come about’. The majority of tasks linked to the provisioning of troops entering the Duchy were carried out successfully. The cost of the operation, according to both contemporaries and historians, was horrifying: ‘You have eaten, my Lords, your bread for [18]13, 14 and perhaps 15 – …, now you absolutely have to chase the Muscovites as far as the Arctic Ocean and survive for three years there, otherwise you will die of starvation along with us,’ General Amilkar Kosiński – then in retirement – warned Jan Henryk Dąbrowski.2 The universally held view of the total devastation of the Duchy by the military preparations begs the question as to how its inhabitants, deprived of their livelihoods, managed to survive the difficult year 1812 and the following one, when at first they made further sacrifices for the sake of rebuilding the Polish army, and then bore the huge cost of requisitioning imposed by the Russians as well as their depredations. Certainly, as in 1807, the burdens and losses connected with the war were not spread evenly across the territory. It is also possible, as during the war of 1806–7, that landowners and peasants anticipated hardships and hid part of their stocks. The costs borne by the Duchy were nevertheless enormous. The situation of the inhabitants was aggravated by requisitions inflicted by the marching troops, despite Napoleon’s orders to the contrary. Armies acquired by their own methods everything that could not be supplied in the required quantities: above all meat, vodka, animal fodder, horses and carts. Losses suffered by the inhabitants as a result of arbitrary orders issued by lower-ranking commanders were compounded by exactions perpetrated by soldiers, and often even officers of the allied armies. Following the Bavarians, who

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gained particular notoriety in 1807, the new plague were the Westphalians. The Polish commander of the Łowicz garrison informed Poniatowski about one of their cuirassier regiments: ‘It treated the local inhabitants in a way that the enemy could not.  … It was not just that [the people] saw no discipline in this unit, but that no authority was respected even by its commanders.’3 The commander of the Westphalian corps, Napoleon’s youngest brother ready – or so it was rumoured – to assume the throne of a restored Poland, hardly set a good example. Jérôme Bonaparte failed to gain the sympathy of Poles. Most accounts of people who had anything to do with him focused on his exaggerated demands for etiquette and creature comforts, which verged on the comical. At the same time, however, many of the Duchy’s inhabitants hoped, pending a victorious outcome to the war, for a unification of the Duchy with former Polish lands in the Russian Partition. Conjectures were also made about extending the territory of a future Poland to include the part of Eastern Galicia still under Austrian rule. The Duchy’s war effort measured in terms of the number of mobilized men encouraged optimism. Among the corps marching into the territory of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Poles made up the largest national contingent after the French. Including the Polish units in French service, they amounted to more than 83,000 men, and including Polish units later formed in the former Lithuanian territories, the total exceeded 100,000. The majority of soldiers in the Duchy’s army found themselves in the 5th Corps of the Grande Armée, consisting of around 35,000 men and commanded by Poniatowski. The Poles, along with the 8th Corps, were to lead operations on the right wing of Napoleon’s main striking force. Napoleon entrusted the command of this group to Jérôme. The majority of the Duchy’s cavalry regiments were attached to corps forming the Grande Armée’s cavalry reserve, because of their usefulness in reconnaissance operations, knowledge of the terrain and ability to understand Russian. Only the fortress garrisons and a few thousand townsmen enrolled in the National Guard remained behind in the Duchy.4 The pressures imposed led to turmoil in the Duchy’s elite. In the first half of 1812, ministers demonstrated increasingly far-reaching independence. At an extraordinary session held in May 1812, in the absence of Łubieński, who was loyal to the king, they handed in their joint resignation – which was not accepted – terrified by the empty coffers and arguing that they were no longer able to work when faced by the bankruptcy of the state. At the same time, they turned to the king asking him to persuade Napoleon to bring the Duchy under French military government. This act of despair was intended to induce the emperor to grant immediate financial assistance. Matuszewicz went to meet Napoleon with the same request. On 31 May in Poznań, the Minister of Finance, who had risen to be one of the Duchy’s most important politicians, was admitted to a private audience with the emperor, during which he managed to convince him of the need for yet another loan. The ministers’ independent activity was a distinct vote of no confidence in the king, albeit concealed beneath a semblance of servile loyalty. It was a clear demonstration of the king’s position in the state, where the real power was wielded by Napoleon. Frederick Augustus reacted diplomatically in order to preserve the appearance of being in control of the situation. He rebuked the ministers for their despondency,

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but at the same time granted the Council of Ministers the right to take decisions in urgent cases where immediate action was required in areas reserved until then for the king, apart from the dismissal of ministers and changes to the judiciary. The decree of 26 May significantly altered the political system bestowed on the Duchy by Napoleon.5 Matuszewicz returned to the capital with not only a further million francs but also the emperor’s consent to the initiation of political action, which was to be given timely momentum by appealing to the whole nation – not merely to citizens of the Duchy, but also to Poles under Russian domination. The aim was to create a political movement embracing widespread support for the restoration of a Polish state. On the night of 23 to 24 June, the Grande Armée started to cross the Niemen. On 26 June a carefully orchestrated extraordinary Sejm began its deliberations in Warsaw. In consultation with Napoleon, care had been taken over the choice of orators and the content of their speeches. The last – so it was deemed – Sejm of the Duchy and first of a restored Poland was to be conducted under the speakership of Prince Adam Kazimierz Czartoryski. The choice of speaker of the Sejm was Napoleon’s decision. Entrusting this office to Adam Kazimierz was highly significant politically: regarded as a pillar of the Russian option, but also valued for its patriotism, the Czartoryski family at the moment of outbreak of war against Alexander I openly lent its authority to supporting followers of Napoleon. For several years already, one such follower had been Adam Kazimierz’s younger son Konstanty, at that very moment marching into the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania as commander of a regiment funded by himself. The propaganda success, however, was incomplete. The greatest authority figure of the Russian option, Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, still held back from involvement on the emperor’s side. In the summer of 1812, he found himself in an awkward position. The growing atmosphere of patriotic euphoria in Warsaw inclined him to join the Napoleonic option, despite his earlier scepticism about the sincerity of Napoleon’s intentions. Everyone in the Duchy expected this, with the exception of only the most fervent Jacobins. Because of his social position and diplomatic experience, he could be sure on arrival in Warsaw of playing a leading role in the political action then beginning. Czartoryski also had reasons, however, for not leaving his residence in the Austrian Partition. Apart from his former friendship with the tsar and belief that Alexander was the best candidate to assume the Polish throne, he was still bound to Russia by ties of service – he remained a Russian dignitary on open-ended leave. Representatives of the Duchy’s ruling elite sympathetic to Czartoryski understood his dilemma, but believed that faced by impending war, there was no place for hesitation. ‘Where the fatherland itself cries out clearly and loudly, all personal or private concerns, ties or qualms, must cease and fall silent. … We will have no choice here between one kind of Poland or another, between this or that emperor. The fatherland itself calls. All that remains is to be obedient or deaf to this one voice.’ Matuszewicz appealed to Czartoryski in June 1812: ‘no one will be allowed to remain neutral or indifferent,’ while passivity would gain Adam Jerzy the reputation of ‘a renegade or cold witness to the greatest events’. Similar appeals flowed in from friends and close family. Adam Jerzy, in order to satisfy the demands of honour and protect himself at the same time from accusations of treason from the Russian side, addressed emotional letters to Alexander begging to be

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formally dismissed from Russian service, while promising Matuszewicz that his joining the Napoleonic option was merely a matter of weeks. Events had moved on before he received any reply. After a few weeks, Czartoryski’s political reorientation ceased to be of consequence. Meanwhile, he himself realized, as he observed the progress of the campaign, that declaring himself on Napoleon’s side would have been a mistake.6 The Warsaw Sejm was meant to spur Poles into action and prove to Napoleon their unity and readiness to make sacrifices. The inauguration of the sessions was observed by a lively public, among whom large numbers of ‘the fair sex, known as much for its patriotism as for its charms’ attracted particular attention. The high point of the debates was the reading of a petition to the Sejm signed by Polish representatives in the Russian Partition. Absent among them was Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, whose signature would have been the most sensational propaganda coup for the Napoleonic option. However, there was no shortage of significant persons among the authors of the petition, which called upon envoys to ‘attend to the great object of restoring the fatherland’. Alongside their patriotic zeal, however, there were warning signs: ‘Immense costs have already been expended, we no longer possess anything except our courage, so nothing remains other than to attain the greatest benefit in the world! To have our fatherland back and pass it on to our children!’ The petition was passed to a Sejm commission for examination. Two days later, on 28 June, Matuszewicz presented the results to the Sejm. The minister’s great speech – in which occurred the words repeated later many times: ‘Poland therefore will arise! What am I saying? Poland already exists, it never ceased to exist!’ – inspired the envoys, who then enthusiastically accepted a bill calling into existence a General Confederation. This was to direct activities aimed at uniting the Duchy with former Polish lands in the Russian Partition and restoring the Polish state. In the Act passed by the Sejm inaugurating the General Confederation, the longawaited words appeared: ‘The Kingdom of Poland is restored and the Polish nation once again united in one body.’7 Reversion to the pre-partition tradition of confederation, the form now given to the political movement for restoring the Polish state, was regarded by some observers as anachronistic and reliant above all on the support of the traditionally minded szlachta. Such support was to be obtained by appealing to the familiar and highly valued conventions of szlachta parliamentarianism. The convening of local sejmiki and commune assemblies ordered by the Sejm, so that they might accept the Act of Confederation and join the movement in the name of local citizens, has been interpreted in a similar way.8 It is interesting that the task presented this time to these assemblies exceeded the powers assigned to them by the Duchy’s constitution. Perhaps propagandist considerations were the decisive factor. It is possible, however, that because no other form of expressing collective acceptance existed at the time, the initiators of the Confederation, in order to have it accepted, chose a solution already available to their political mentality from the past – they summoned sejmiki. From the end of June 1812, therefore, two centres of power existed in Warsaw. The first was the Council of State and Council of Ministers which governed the state that existed in reality. The second was the General Council of the Confederation, called into being by the Sejm, which was to rule the emotions and imagination of Poles living in all lands of the former Commonwealth and represent the Kingdom of Poland in

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dealings with Napoleon. Its composition had been established earlier in the narrow circle of initiates grouped around Matuszewicz and the new French representative, now ambassador, Dominique-Georges Dufour de Pradt. Senators, envoys to the Sejm, commune deputies and state councillors were also represented in the Confederation Council. Among them were several eminent personalities. The council was led by marshal of the Confederation Adam Kazimierz Czartoryski, exemplifying the former splendour of the Commonwealth and support for Napoleon of the great traditional families. His deputy was Stanisław Zamoyski. Among the remaining members, names linked to the government were also notable, such as Koźmian, Linowski and Marcin Badeni, as well as envoys identified by some as oppositionists in the Sejm: Franciszek Wężyk, Joachim Owidzki or Antoni Ostrowski, son of the chairman of the Senate. The Confederation was a political body existing as though above and beyond the structures of the Duchy of Warsaw. Frederick Augustus acceded to it, but this gave him no powers or authority over it. The General Council could conduct independent activities; in reality most were approved by Pradt. In accordance with Napoleon’s intentions, the leaders of the General Confederation were to stir up patriotic zeal among Poles, above all in the Russian Partition. This was to lead to mass declarations of Poles against Russian rule and the formation by them of Polish authoritative bodies and troops. They were to take over some of the tasks of the Grande Armée and hinder Russian military operations. It swiftly transpired that Pradt had no intention of setting the Russian Partition ablaze. He tried to delay these too energetic – in his view – initiatives, arguing that Polish patriotic fervour should be restrained rather than excited. He interfered in the details, personally approving or even editing the drafts of proclamations and acts presented to him. Witnesses to the events as well as historians have argued about the causes of the situation prevailing in Warsaw. Perhaps Viridiana Fiszer, wife of the chief of the general staff of the Duchy’s army, had an accurate explanation: ‘As a result of a peculiar misunderstanding, the emperor confused the idea of a confederation, implying a levée en masse, with a Sejm confederation, which is a form of exercising legislative power.’ This would confirm the thesis about the poor coordination of activities undertaken by Napoleon in support of the Polish question and the lack of a precise formulation of their purpose. Instead of a levée en masse with several thousand cavalry, Napoleon got a General Council of the Confederation issuing innumerable proclamations. Within a few days of its inception, French Minister of Foreign Affairs, Maret, rebuked Pradt: ‘You should have mobilized every means to carry minds with you. … So far you have reduced a great national movement to the dimensions of a theatrical spectacle in two acts.’9 The General Council tried to undertake activities, however, of political significance. It sent a deputation to Napoleon, the purpose of which was to inform him of the restitution of Poland proclaimed by the Sejm. The deputation was to extract binding promises from the emperor regarding his participation in the restoration of the Polish state. It was led by Senator Józef Wybicki, a familiar figure esteemed by the emperor. An audience took place on 11 July in Wilno, during which Napoleon expressed his approval of the aims of the General Confederation and stated that although the territory of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania had been liberated by his army, the

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restoration of Poland depended on Poles themselves. They had to demonstrate unity and self-sacrifice, proving that ‘the fatherland remained alive and whole’, but which in practice boiled down to a demand for the speedy creation of ‘a large armed force’. These were not new demands. Poles had encountered them before in the autumn of 1806. Napoleon’s diplomatic reply did not dampen Polish enthusiasm – it seems that in the Duchy, the words were still remembered in which the emperor had announced to the army ‘a second Polish war’, auguring a victorious peace: ‘It will bring an end to the sinister impact that Russia has had on Europe for fifty years.’ This allusion to the policy of Catherine II, which Poles immediately associated with the partitions, must have filled them with hope. The General Council had no clearly defined powers. For this reason, it failed to extend its control over conscription and army management, which remained the responsibility of the deputy to the Duchy’s Minister of War, General Józef Wielhorski. A distinct attempt to increase the political importance of the Confederation were the talks conducted in Wilno by Zamoyski with Maret, in which he tried to convince Maret that the fast-arising Kingdom of Poland would be – in terms of territory, population and political structures – a very different creature from the Duchy of Warsaw, and so it was no longer feasible to base its political system on the constitution thus far binding in the Napoleonic protectorate. Negotiations with the French minister were an attempt to gain powers for the council, which would extend beyond the generally understood awakening of national fervour and its recognition by the French, and make it instead a centre for conducting political debate and perhaps also negotiating the legal and political system of a future Poland. In view of the uncertain outcome of the war and need to maintain freedom of manoeuvre during future peace negotiations, the French side did not intend to limit its own opportunities for action, however, by making promises to the Poles that were too far-reaching.10 Given this situation, the activities of the council did not extend much beyond the sphere of propaganda. The patriotic mobilization of compatriots was to be promoted by collecting applications to join the Confederation lodged by local sejmiki, commune assemblies, town and city authorities, kahals or private individuals, and subsequently published in the Confederation’s diary. On Pradt’s express suggestion, poets and other writers were inspired to publish patriotic works. The popularity which the Russian tsar, who did not shy away from liberal coquetry, enjoyed among a large number of his Polish subjects disturbed supporters of Napoleon. It threatened to impede through inertia the organization of the Polish provisional authorities in Lithuania, as well as the infrastructure for supplying the Grande Armée. The position of Polish volunteers serving in the tsarist army also attracted the attention of pro-Napoleonic campaigners in the Russian Partition. The number of Poles who had entered Russian service, driven primarily by economic concerns, could have reached between 11,000 and 19,000 by 1812. To induce them to switch their allegiance to Napoleon’s banner would be an enormous political, organizational and propaganda achievement. On 7 July the General Council issued an appeal to ‘Poles in Muscovite civil and military service’. Fellow countrymen, who had been inclined ‘either from need or compulsion, or to escape the suspicious eye of illegitimate stewards’, were not condemned, but told that changes to the political situation ended a period of

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ambiguity affecting norms of collective loyalty: since the fatherland is reborn ‘there is no choice, no reflection, only: either I am its son, or I must become its betrayer’. The appeal concluded with the challenge: ‘Cast off the parricidal iron! Join with us and … turn it against your oppressors.’11 The appeal may have persuaded many Poles in the Russian army. They could have been influenced also by the example of many well-known personalities from the Russian Partition, such as Dominik Radziwiłł, who had earlier risked declaring themselves on Napoleon’s side. We know of examples of Poles switching to Napoleon. A mass exodus from the Russian ranks, however, did not occur. This was partly due to strong notions of the conduct becoming or unbecoming of a nobleman and officer. Also, during the initial phase of the war, regiments consisting mostly of Polish volunteers operated alongside indigenous Russian units, which made mass desertion by Poles difficult. Later on, cool analysis of the military situation may have inclined many more towards caution rather than taking radical steps. In accordance with Napoleon’s plan, the left wing of the Grande Armée was to circumvent the Russian right flank and attack from the rear. The manoeuvre prevented the retreat of the First Western Army under Barclay de Tolly, and after it the Second Western Army commanded by Bagration, located more towards the south, after which the right wing of Napoleon’s forces set out in pursuit, among them the Polish 5th Corps. Napoleon’s manoeuvre, originally intended to strike the enemy at lightning speed with a pitched battle, turned instead into the pursuit of two retreating Russian armies. The right wing, incompetently commanded by Jérôme Bonaparte, embarked on an exhausting pursuit of Bagration that lasted a month and a half. Poor command forced the 5th Corps to undertake extra marches or increase their speed in order to make up for lost time. Poniatowski, complaining that he moved with his corps ‘like a poisoned rat’, was unable to prevent mounting losses caused by exhausting marches conducted in sweltering heat or rain, with ever diminishing supplies of food. All corps of the Grande Armée experienced similar difficulties. The march east turned into an organizational nightmare exacerbated by poor food supplies, with which even the most experienced marshals could not cope. Poniatowski tried to keep pace with the tasks assigned to him, but within a few weeks of the start of the war, the 5th Corps, without taking part in any battle, had suffered serious losses. As a result of death from exhaustion, disease and desertion, it had lost about 13,000 men. In order to explain the miserable condition of the 5th Corps, historians point to the incompetent leadership of its commanders, but also to the difficult terrain in which it had to operate as well as the forced tempo caused by the need to make up for initial delays, resulting from the inept command of Jérôme Bonaparte. Soldiers’ lack of experience, however, may have been an additional important factor. Most were unprepared for the hardships of the campaign – approximately 40 per cent of the Duchy’s army in 1812 were recent recruits. None of the above arguments satisfied Napoleon, from whom Poniatowski’s adjutant – when delivering a report – heard a few brutal remarks on the subject of Prince Józef ’s leadership abilities and the quality of his soldiers. Poniatowski was treated worse still by the emperor during their meeting outside Smolensk, immediately after the Polish corps joined the main body of the Grande Armée then preparing to

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take a pitched battle to the Russian forces, now concentrated in one place. There is no doubt that the criticism – largely undeserved – directed again the 5th Corps affected its attitude the following day. On 17 August, corps under the command of Ney, Davout and Poniatowski began to storm the left-bank areas of Smolensk, a city surrounded by strong defence walls. The infantry of the 5th Corps supported by artillery attacked the suburbs near the river. After driving out the defenders, they continued the assault on the walls. By nightfall, none of Napoleon’s corps had managed to force the walls. During the night, the Russian units withdrew to the right bank of the Dnieper. At more or less the same time, a Polish patrol entered the city through a breach in the fortifications that had been secured only temporarily. The battle ended with Napoleon’s victory. However, it did not bring the expected tactical advantages. The storm of Smolensk was the 5th Corps’ first battle of the campaign. The emperor’s presence on the battlefield, as well as news of his critical assessment of the 5th Corps no doubt influenced the intensity of the assault. Among the 9,000 killed or wounded of Napoleon’s soldiers, the Poles lost approximately 1,600. The determination displayed by the 5th Corps during the storm changed its image in Napoleon’s eyes. On the night of 18 August, the Poles were still given to understand that as allies of the French, they were troops of secondary importance: soldiers of the Duchy’s 15th infantry regiment, the first to enter Smolensk, received the order to vacate it, so that French units could have the honour of ceremonially marching into the city. Shortly afterwards, however, Napoleon demonstrated his famous talent for capturing soldiers’ hearts. On 21 August, during a review of the corps, afterwards called ‘the reconciliation review’, he inspected individual units, spoke to the soldiers and showered them with the Légion d’honneur. The 5th Corps was awarded eighty-eight crosses.12 Among those singled out was Lieutenant Henryk Dembiński of the Chasseurs, promoted by Napoleon personally to the rank of captain. Clearly, the career of the former Galician volunteer of good family prospered even without his mother’s intervention. News of the honourable participation of the Poles in the battle made an enormous impression in the Duchy, thirsty for some victory. By order of the authorities, the Te Deum was sung in churches, while newspapers carried descriptions of the fighting. The conquest of Smolensk strengthened Poles’ belief in the imminent restoration of their state. After the battle, however, Napoleon himself rejected a proposal for making best use of the Polish corps. Poniatowski suggested redirecting it southwards – to Volhynia, Podolia and Ukraine. Given the weakness of the Russian forces stationed there and the possibility of support for Poniatowski from the Polish szlachta, the operation might have led to the liberation of further lands of the former Commonwealth and the organization of new regiments. The reinforcement of the Polish corps with thousands of new soldiers would have protected the flank of Napoleon’s corps marching towards Moscow. Volhynia, Podolia and Ukraine, which were rich and not destroyed by war, could also have provided food, forage and horses. The emperor, however, needed Poniatowski’s Poles in the continued pursuit of the retreating Russians. A few weeks later, the army of Admiral Pavel Chichagov entered the southern guberniyas on its way back from the Turkish War and headed towards the Berezina.13 Hopes for restoring the Polish state were strengthened, however, by the Grande Armée’s occupation of the extensive guberniyas that once made up the territory of

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the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. On 1 July, on Napoleon’s orders, the Commission of the Provisional Government of Lithuania was created and included representatives of the aristocracy and szlachta linked – as in the case of the Prussian Partition six years before – to the tradition of the Four Years Sejm and the Kościuszko Insurrection. On 14 July, during celebrations in Wilno Cathedral in which a delegation from the General Council of the Confederation took part, the provisional Lithuanian authorities declared Lithuania’s accession to the General Confederation of the Kingdom of Poland. The main task of the provisional Lithuanian authorities was organization of the army and a provisional civilian administration in the Departments of Białystok, Grodno, Wilno and Minsk. Prefects and sub-prefects, appointed from among respected local landowners reputed for their patriotism, were to guarantee the safety of the inhabitants and cooperate with the military authorities in satisfying the supply needs of the armies passing through. This plan immediately fell apart. The passage of the Grande Armée over several weeks hindered attempts to create a civil administration. Commanders of the marching units ignored the jurisdiction of the local authorities as they carried out arbitrary requisitioning on their own. Numerous bands of marauders prowled the main roads. The new authorities were faced with organizing their own civil service, army, supplies, hospitals and tax collection in a country plunged into anarchy, steeped in ruin and deprived of money. Only after a few months, when the security situation improved, did taxes begin to flow into government coffers. Magazines likewise filled up. In December 1812 the accumulated supplies would have been sufficient to sustain Napoleon’s vast army throughout the winter, had it not been irreparably weakened. The number of soldiers in the emerging Lithuanian regiments and National Guard reached 20,000.14 At the time when Polish regiments were marching further and further east and the Commission of the Provisional Government was trying to control the situation in the territories entrusted to its power, the General Council of the Confederation took no new initiatives, gradually becoming a superfluous adornment to the political scene. This was not only due to the actions of Pradt, who was convinced of the need to rein in Polish recklessness. The decline in the political significance of the Confederation was a result of military developments. While Napoleon had expected the Russians to resist him in the territory of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania, he had recognized the General Council as a useful political instrument which could influence the attitude of Poles inhabiting the region where the war was to be waged. The shift of operations to the east of Smolensk meant that the General Confederation lost its significance, especially as the most important tasks from Napoleon’s perspective were now being fulfilled by the provisional authorities in Lithuania itself. The authorities in the Duchy were preoccupied above all with organizing the passage of replenishments to the Grande Armée and the transport dedicated to their supply. Operations were hindered by the lack of money in the Treasury, which was felt increasingly painfully. The catastrophic state of the Duchy’s finances made it impossible to give soldiers’ back pay or carry out fresh conscription. The situation on the southeastern borders of the Duchy was likewise alarming. This was due to the activization of Russian forces that had remained in Volhynia. In the second half of August, reports began to reach Warsaw of Cossack incursions into the Lublin region and further down

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the Bug River. The local prefect announced the mobilization of the National Guard. The Council of Ministers recalled retired General Kosiński and entrusted him with the command of improvised units protecting the Bug. These units numbered 7,000 men – sufficient to stop Cossack regiments sowing panic as far as the Siedlce Department, but decidedly too small to defend the Duchy from an attack from larger Russian forces operating close to the border. The situation righted itself only when Napoleon ordered the transfer of the Saxon and Austrian corps to the threatened region. Towards the end of August, Kosiński succeeded even in entering Volhynia in their company. They were unsuccessful however in galvanizing the province to fight. At the beginning of September, with the appearance of Chichagov’s army, the number of Russian troops in Volhynia rose to 70,000. The territory of the Duchy, defended by Schwarzenberg’s Austrian corps relocated to Brześć [Brest-Litovsk], once again became the target of Cossack raiding parties. In mid-October, after the Austrians left Brześć, larger Russian forces invaded the Siedlce Department, occupied its capital, thus threatening Warsaw. The return of Saxon and Austrian units forced the majority to leave the Duchy’s territory. However, throughout November and December, the small war continued in the vicinity of Siedlce between Polish and Russian units.15 From the strategic perspective, the situation was dangerous. With every consecutive day of Napoleon’s pursuit of the retreating Russian army, the theatre of military operations moved further east. An enormous gap had opened up between Napoleon’s main force and the corps protecting its flanks, and the Duchy – a gap, which Chichagov’s army now entered. Operations in the main theatre of war brought no solution. The battle fought on 7 September at Borodino in the foothills of Moscow brought victory to Napoleon, which did not decide, however, the outcome of the war. Poniatowski’s corps also participated in this bloody encounter. It saw action away from the main battlefield and did not suffer such terrifying losses as corps fighting at the centre; his force was reduced, however, to approximately 8,000 men. During the Grande Armée’s sojourn in Moscow, the Polish units were stationed outside the city and constantly lost men in skirmishes with the Russians. On 18 October the 5th Corps took part in repelling a Russian attack during the Battle of Tarutino (also known as the Battle of Vinkovo). Several hundred officers and men fell, including the chief of the general staff, Stanisław Fiszer. The failure of attempted negotiations with Alexander I induced Napoleon to evacuate Moscow and begin the retreat. Cut off by the enemy from the easier route via Kaluga, Napoleon returned to the Smolensk road, depleted of food during his earlier march on Moscow. Thus began the nightmarish retreat, well documented in diaries and memoirs, of the daily dwindling Grande Armée, pursued by tens of thousands of stragglers. The 5th Corps had to contend every day with skirmishes with Cossacks or resist larger Russian forces trying to cut off individual corps from the line of retreat. The contusions suffered by Poniatowski on falling from his horse forced him to hand over command to Zajączek. The losses suffered during fighting, but above all from starvation, frost-bite and disease, meant that by mid-November the corps numbered only about 1,200 men. The division led by Dąbrowski, which had remained in Lithuania tasked with defending Minsk, suffered fewer losses. Following its incorporation, the corps, now consisting of approximately 3,000 men, fought

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alongside other Poles – from the Vistula Legion and regiments returning from Spain – to maintain the makeshift bridges thrown across the River Berezina by the French (28 November). During this battle, Poles, totalling roughly 14,000 men, made up almost half of the fighting force that was now Napoleon’s ‘great’ army only in name. During the course of the battle, lasting twelve or so hours, the corps’ command changed several times: the seriously wounded Zajączek was replaced by Dąbrowski; when Dąbrowski was wounded, command passed to Kniaziewicz, who, also wounded, handed it in turn to Izydor Krasiński. Losses incurred during fighting and a sharp frost meant that three days after the battle, the 5th Corps had only 1,100 soldiers remaining. Now with fewer men than a regiment, on Napoleon’s orders it took the shorter route back to Warsaw, thus bypassing the Lithuanian capital.16 On 12 December Prince Józef arrived in Warsaw. Two days earlier, Napoleon had slipped through incognito. During his brief meeting with Stanisław Kostka Potocki, Matuszewicz and Pradt, Napoleon described succinctly the development of events, repeating several times the words that were soon to become famous: ‘From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step.’ Without trying to hide the defeat but minimalizing at the same its significance, he announced the start of a new campaign in the spring and called on the Duchy’s authorities to immediately rebuild the army. The losses suffered by all Polish units in the 1812 campaign are estimated to have amounted to about 90,000, although it is difficult to establish what percentage were killed in battle, died of their wounds or were victims of disease and frost-bite. Of the 5th Corps, several generals, 120 officers and about 200 soldiers returned first. In the following days, successive units, individual soldiers and officers appeared in Warsaw. A few weeks later, about 1,700 soldiers were in the capital. In planning the reconstruction of the army, Prince Józef could also count on the infantry regiment stationed in Zamość, regimental bases for recruitment and training, units of the National Guard, and about 2,500 soldiers in units organized in the former Lithuanian territories. Remnants of cavalry regiments divided among various corps of the Grande Armée also flowed into Warsaw. By midJanuary 1813, the number of Polish soldiers in the Duchy reached 22,000. About 2,000 of these lay in hospitals, however, while the rest were exhausted. Many did not have boots, uniforms or weapons. An enormous problem was equipping the cavalry and artillery with horses: in this respect the expedition to Russia had been a calamity for the Polish cavalry, even though it was better adjusted to operating in the severe climate than many Napoleonic regiments. The morale of those who remained under arms was high. This was confirmed by the fact that the 5th Corps was the only one of the Grand Armée to return from the fray with all its guns and regimental eagles intact. Soldiers who had remained in the ranks in extraordinarily difficult conditions became the army’s elite. The hardships of the Russian campaign left their mark on them, however. Many officers returned home physically exhausted: ‘Rich and poor, they were in the same situation – in rags, drained by hunger, frozen through, changed beyond recognition. … A few returned in a state of frenzy caused by the horrors they had witnessed.’ Only part of the returning forces could be used in case of an immediate resumption of military operations. The Council of Ministers passed a resolution adopting ‘extraordinary measures’ for the defence of the Duchy, the basis of which was to be conscription to the light cavalry. Armed, at the

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lowest cost, with pike, cutlass and pistol, the soldier on a ‘village horse’ was the Polish answer – demanded by Napoleon – to the Russian Cossacks. It was also decided to select several thousand recruits from the contingent not exploited during the previous round of conscription and accelerate the completion of the next round, to the level of 25,000 men, ordered in the previous month.17 On the emperor’s insistence, the General Council of the Confederation issued a proclamation calling for a levée en masse with the summons: ‘Polish szlachta! To horse and arms! Everything is at stake: the fatherland, our very existence, the future of posterity.’18 During the first three months of 1813 they succeeded in expanding the armed forces to around 28,000 men. Dąbrowski’s division, which was recreated separately, had about 4,000. In reality, the number of troops that were fit for battle was smaller. About 16,000 soldiers made up fortress garrisons or were still in hospital. The results of the mobilization were disappointing. Its progress was hampered by lack of money. Two million francs assigned by Napoleon were insufficient. Above all, however, there was no time. The total disintegration of the Grande Armée made the plan to defend the Niemen line impossible to achieve. The remnants of Napoleon’s armies withdrew to the west. The territory of the Duchy was still being protected by the Austrian corps under Schwarzenberg. The Austrian commander had enough men at his disposal to envisage keeping the Russians at bay for a while. In accordance with instructions from Vienna, however, he avoided taking any decisive action. His manoeuvres, motivated by fear of the corps being cut off from the route back to Austria, allowed Russian units to occupy a significant part of the Duchy’s territory on the right bank of the Vistula. This impeded the organization of recruitment to the Polish army. Poniatowski was outraged by the attitude of the Austrians. He approached Schwarzenberg, his friend from his youth in Vienna, in order to persuade him to engage in the realistic defence of the Duchy. The mounting conflict between the former friends almost resulted in a duel. On 28 January, however, Schwarzenberg signed a secret agreement with the Russians on the mutual laying down of arms. The Austrian corps was to withdraw to Galicia, thus allowing the Russians to occupy the Duchy.19 For the army and government of the Duchy, this meant leaving the capital. By 4 February the evacuation of the city was complete. The army was to move in the direction of Kalisz and then further to the Oder line or towards Silesia, in order to join Napoleon’s main forces. Soon afterwards, however, Poniatowski informed their commander Eugène de Beauharnais that the Polish units had been forced to retreat towards Częstochowa and Kraków because of the threat of being cut off from their chosen route of retreat by the Russians. It seems, however, that there may have been another reason for the Polish commander’s change of mind. By the end of November 1812, the Council of State was aware of the Grande Armée’s defeat in Russia and the threat to its line of retreat from Chichagov’s army encroaching into Lithuania. Only in December did it receive information that the remnants of Napoleon’s army had managed to escape the trap laid for it at the Berezina. The plan to restore Poland thanks to a Napoleonic victory now seemed less and less realistic. Meanwhile, the threat to the Duchy itself had increased due to the proximity of the Russian army to its borders. It was not only pessimists who recognized one of two scenarios as being the most likely development of events. The first reckoned

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that Napoleon would not manage to assemble enough troops in time to resist Russia and also Prussia, which had freed itself from Napoleonic domination; hence, in any subsequent peace treaty, he would transfer the Duchy to both powers, who would then divide it between themselves. According to the second scenario, the emperor would resolutely resist his opponents between the Oder and the Bug rivers, which meant that the Duchy’s territory would be destroyed by bloody and destructive operations carried out by armies consisting of thousands of men: ‘Our country will be the theatre of the fiercest war; … It will be the second Spanish war,’ claimed Stanisław Zamoyski. All this prompted reconsideration of the balance sheet of profit and loss accruing to the Poles by remaining on Napoleon’s side. Such reconsideration was clearly encouraged by Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, still residing in Galicia, who approached the Duchy’s rulers unofficially – through the mediation of a friend – with the dramatic question: ‘Having forfeited our lives and fortunes, we have the right to ask: Where is it leading? What will be our gain?’ By the end of November, several Warsaw politicians had realized that given Napoleon’s defeat and the real threat that he might become Alexander’s prisoner of war, Polish reason of state demanded that an attempt be made to establish direct contact with the Russian ruler. The direct initiators of this risky action included Matuszewicz, Minister of Internal Affairs Tadeusz Mostowski, and Zamoyski. The circle of initiates was certainly wider. On 1 December they sent Czartoryski a letter stating the arguments he was to employ in beginning negotiations with Alexander in the name of the Duchy’s government and the General Council of the Confederation. The initiators of this action must have been fully aware that negotiation with the tsar, who remained in a state of war with the Duchy’s protector, undertaken without the knowledge of Frederick Augustus, exposed them to the charge of treason. They acted, however, out of the conviction that Poles had already fulfilled their obligations to Napoleon. Senior secretary Kajetan Koźmian recalled Matuszewicz’s words: ‘We have shed our blood and borne sacrifices for Poland, not France. Whoever gives us Poland, we should stick with him.’ One of the arguments proposed to Czartoryski was the benefit that supporting the restoration of Poland might bring to Russia and its rulers. The Kingdom of Poland, united with Russia in the person of its ruler, would enhance the political influence of Russia in Europe. Poland’s restitution was presented to the tsar as an act of enormous moral value: victory over Napoleon’s politics of violence and an opportunity to rectify relations between two Slav nations currently at variance. Czartoryski was also to put before the tsar the conditions required for the Polish side to come to an agreement: Poland and the territory of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania were to be a separate state from Russia proper with a throne inherited through the Romanov dynasty. Its political system could be based, adapted to suit the new situation, on the Third of May Constitution or Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw. The initiators of the action expected that Alexander I, after accepting the political project presented to him, would establish contact with the Duchy’s government and with the General Council, which represented not the Duchy of Warsaw but the whole nation united around the idea of restoring its own state. The council was therefore the appropriate partner in negotiations concerning the restoration of Poland. Proof of the sincerity of Alexander’s intentions would be his course of action: Russian troops

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were not to come near Warsaw. After the next round of secret talks with the General Council, Alexander was to issue a proclamation explaining his ‘charitable offer’ to the Polish nation. This step would make possible a ceasefire and the withdrawal of the Polish army from further fighting on Napoleon’s side. Following the conclusion of negotiations on the constitution, the General Council was to proclaim Alexander I as King of Poland.20 Time played a crucial role. The Warsaw politicians’ proposal could have been enormously significant to Alexander I at a moment when he was hesitating over whether or not to continue the offensive westwards and invade the territory of the Duchy. An understanding with the Poles would have been an important strategic and propaganda coup in his military and diplomatic game with Napoleon, but also with Austria and Prussia. In the second half of December, Czartoryski sent him a memorandum in support of the proposal spelling out the advantages to him of restoring Poland. Soon afterwards, he dispatched his private secretary to Russia, entrusting him with a further letter. On 11 January 1813 the secretary reached the tsar’s quarters in Wilno. That same day, he set out on the return journey with the response, in which Alexander pointed to difficulties associated with the plan for restoring Poland, due to the resistance of Russian public opinion as well as the hostile position of Prussia and Austria. He did not rule out, however, the possibility of reaching an understanding, while underlining the need to preserve the utmost discretion. Two days later, Russian troops began to cross the Niemen. Speedy establishment of confidential relations between the two sides was thwarted by Austrian intelligence. Czartoryski’s secretary, bearing Alexander’s reply, was stopped at the Russian–Austrian border allegedly because of quarantine regulations associated with the epidemic in Russia. He was relieved of the bundle containing the tsar’s reply and a copy of the Warsaw politicians’ proposals. These were copied and soon sent to Napoleon and to the Prussians. Austrian diplomats thereby hoped to compromise the Duchy’s authorities in the eyes of the French emperor, at the same time limiting the tsar’s room for manoeuvre in the negotiations he was conducting with Berlin for a Russian–Prussian alliance. The Polish cause was complicated already at the stage of initial consultation. This development meant that the Polish initiators of the proposals had no idea of Alexander I’s reaction until the final days of February 1813. Having lost patience, Czartoryski set out for the tsar’s headquarters. When he found them at last, already on the Duchy soil, the Russian armies were marching further west and Prussian–Russian negotiations nearing completion. One article of the treaty between the allied powers allowed for the possibility of Prussia receiving part of the Duchy. The position of the Polish side in negotiations with the tsar was now considerably weaker than it had been a few weeks earlier. Without knowing Alexander’s attitude to the plan submitted to him, supporters of reaching an understanding with the tsar could do nothing except exert pressure on Poniatowski in order to stop him, despite the threat of his being cut off from Napoleon’s main forces, leaving Warsaw with the army. Poniatowski’s departure from the city would force ministers as well as the General Council to follow him, thus abandoning their original plan. Leaving the civilian authorities behind in the

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capital would compromise them in Napoleon’s eyes, while sending a clear signal to Alexander that his Polish negotiating partners did not represent the opinion of all their compatriots. Their gamble, of which the stakes were maintaining a foothold for further negotiation with the tsar, ended when Poniatowski decided to evacuate the city. The civilian authorities quickly followed the army. The initiators of negotiations with Alexander did not give up hope for the realization of their plan, however. If the Russian ruler were to promise clear guarantees for the restoration of Poland, then the Council of the Confederation could still – while maintaining the outward appearance of spontaneous action – proclaim him king. The possibility of realizing such a scenario, however, was soon dispelled by Czartoryski’s conversation with the tsar on 30 March in Kalisz. It transpired that Alexander I, already bound by an alliance with Prussia and scrambling to get Austria to join, had no intention of inflaming relations with them by openly proclaiming the restitution of Poland. He promised only to work for the restoration of a Polish state during negotiations at the end of the war with Napoleon. Meanwhile, he proposed that Prince Józef resign from further fighting on Napoleon’s side and sign an agreement with one of the Russian generals for the cessation of military operations. The Polish side’s room for manoeuvre had distinctly narrowed. Despite the changed situation, the position that Poniatowski would adopt towards the pro-Russian initiative remained crucial. The possibility that Prince Józef along with the army might declare themselves for Alexander as the new protector of the Polish question, or at least withdraw from fighting against the Russians, would be a strong argument in eventual negotiations with him. Poniatowski was informed of the activities of those trying to reach an understanding with Alexander. Their initiative left him in an awkward position. As a loyal commander of a corps of the Grande Armée, he ought to have informed Napoleon of actions potentially affecting the course of the war. Irrespective of the demands of military honour, there were also political reasons not to resign prematurely from the Napoleonic option – at the beginning of 1813, the hope that Napoleon could once again defeat Russia and Prussia did not seem so unrealistic. Also, as a loyal subject of Frederick Augustus, Poniatowski should have informed him about the move to deprive him of his throne in Warsaw. As commander-in-chief of the Polish army, he had to take measures to quickly increase its numbers. In the existing situation, the army was one of the Poles’ few strong cards in the gamble to restore their own state. Its proper exploitation required, however, the avoidance of a double danger. The army could be quickly destroyed by the Russians or cut off from Napoleon’s main body and forced to capitulate. Withdrawal from further fighting at Napoleon’s side, on the other hand, despite there being no clear guarantees to the Poles from the tsar, could end in similar results. In either case, the Polish army would cease to be a bargaining chip in negotiations with the Russian ruler. Prince Józef ’s attitude to the negotiations with Alexander I can be analysed only on the basis of decisions taken by him in the first months of 1813. They are not material from which unambiguous conclusions can be drawn. His withdrawal of the army from Warsaw and march westward were inconsistent with the aims of those wishing to pave the way for the tsar to become the Poles’ new protector. On the other hand, the late change of route towards Częstochowa and then Kraków gives the impression

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he may have been playing for time – preventing the army from being surrounded by the Russians, while simultaneously maintaining the possibility of joining Napoleon’s forces and giving the Polish negotiators more time to obtain solid guarantees from Alexander  I. At the same time, however, in conversations with French diplomats, Poniatowski alluded – while avoiding specifics – to the difficulties he faced as commander caused by his countrymen’s loss of faith in Napoleon and their raised hopes for restoring Poland with Russian help.21 Perhaps he was thereby signalling to Napoleon the need for a clear emphasis on the Polish context of the emperor’s war. Given the changing structure of alliances and difficulty in predicting the outcome of the war, a clear declaration from either Napoleon or Alexander on the question of Poland’s restitution might have triggered a curious competition as to who would offer more. The appearance in diplomatic circles of official declarations on the future of the Polish lands would have prevented the scenario that Poles feared most: liquidation of the Duchy of Warsaw and return to the situation of 1795 with the silent acquiescence of European governments. The first Polish units reached Kraków on 20 February. Poniatowski took advantage of his stay in the city to continue rebuilding and training the units under his command. This was facilitated by the fact that their position was covered by Austrian troops, against whom the Russians were no longer conducting operations due to the official truce.22 Disturbing things were happening nevertheless in the part of the Duchy occupied by the Russians. The civilian administration had been taken over by a Provisional Supreme Council [Rada Najwyższa Tymczasowa] appointed by Alexander I. Two Russians sat on it: General Vasily Lanskoy and Senator Nikolay Novosiltsev. It also had two Poles from the Russian Partition supporting the restoration of Poland with Alexander on the throne – Tomasz Wawrzecki and Ksawery Drucki-Lubecki – and a Prussian official employed in the Duchy, Ludwig von Colomb. The appointment of the council was interpreted in Kraków as an attempt to create a rival institution to the Duchy’s legitimate government and the authority of the Confederation. The initiators of the understanding with Russia, however, did not lose hope of still playing a role. During the army’s stay in Kraków, they continued to intervene, trying to win Poniatowski over to their plans. Poniatowski wavered. References in correspondence between people initiated into the plans show that the commander-in-chief had decided to give them a little more time to explain Alexander’s intentions to the Polish population. Regarding the idea itself of an agreement with the tsar, he kept his distance. Zamoyski informed Czartoryski in March that Poniatowski was sceptical of its success: ‘He does not believe in the general promises; he sees only lack of resolution in them and says … he is convinced because of them that we are being duped, that no one wants Poland and no one will do anything.’ Zofia Zamoyska (née Czartoryska) informed her brother in April that Prince Józef did not trust the tsar’s goodwill: ‘however, he will always join a clear and definite agreement, as well as a definite and honest truce’.23 Poniatowski did not wholly support the initiative taken by Matuszewicz, Mostowski and Zamoyski, but he did not obstruct attempts to realize it. His sense of honour also did not allow him to compromise those who had let him into their plan. For this reason, he was discreet in contacts with Napoleon’s representative in Kraków, Bignon. The French resident had

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already known for some time, thanks to anonymous letters sent to him possibly by the Austrians, about the contacts between the Polish politicians and the tsar. In the second half of March, a lengthy, skilfully conducted conversation took place between Bignon and Tadeusz Mostowski. Both men, while maintaining the appearance of a purely theoretical discussion on treason, allegiance and patriotism, laid out their positions. The Minister of Internal Affairs eventually admitted that together with Matuszewicz, he had sounded out Czartoryski about the terms on which the tsar would be prepared to restore the Polish state, should hopes invested in Napoleon come to nothing. In the interpretation given to the French resident, the action of the Warsaw politicians hardly qualified as treason. Bignon, familiar with the copy of Alexander I’s letter to Czartoryski, knew that the secret consultations described by Mostowski between compatriots concerned for the fate of their country indeed amounted to a formal political proposal. Despite this, in reports forwarded to Paris, he proposed merely dismissing the two ministers. Bignon clearly guessed Napoleon’s intentions. The Emperor of the French had no intention of publicizing a matter that was embarrassing to him. In this delicate political situation, it would be more profitable to show leniency than severity; the actions of both politicians were treated therefore as rash, not criminal. It is significant that in conversations with Bignon, Poniatowski did not condemn the initiators of negotiations with the tsar. Furthermore, he tried to justify them, claiming that their decision was prompted by news of the total destruction of the Grande Armée in Russia, and so negotiations with the Russian ruler seemed ‘the last resort’.24 At the same time, Poniatowski was under constant pressure from supporters of Alexander I. In mid-April Czartoryski wrote to him warning him of the possibility of an agreement between Alexander and Napoleon, as a result of which Napoleon would save his own sphere of influence at the expense of the Duchy. In this situation, Austria too might come into play by occupying the territory it lost in 1809, and where an Austrian corps was already stationed. Poniatowski, by deciding to remain in Kraków, could – according to Czartoryski – at one and the same time save the army from destruction, and also prevent the loss of Galicia.25 The position of Prince Józef and his army became increasingly difficult. The Austrian corps separating the Russian army under General Osten-Sacken from the Poles withdrew, thus leaving the road to Kraków open to the Russians. The commander-inchief weighed up several courses of action. Remaining in Kraków could avert the threat Czartoryski had written about. It could also lead, however, to the Polish army being surrounded and forced to capitulate without any benefit to the Polish cause. The tsar’s intentions were unclear. On 27 April Poniatowski approached Osten-Sacken proposing a ceasefire. Everything therefore indicates that he chose the option on which the Polish advocates of negotiations with Alexander had been relying. Despite Czartoryski’s belief that Osten-Sacken was authorized by the tsar to undertake negotiations, the Russian commander refused to conclude a truce. Referring to the orders he had received, he demanded total capitulation. Two days after Osten-Sacken’s reply, Poniatowski decided to leave Kraków. In the final days of April, the first Polish units began marching out of the city: ‘Poniatowski, preoccupied and sad, rode at their head.’ The choice had not been simple. Aleksander Linowski, entering Poniatowski’s bedroom first thing in the morning, noticed a pair

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of pistols lying on the bedside table: ‘Twice during the night I held them in my hands, I wanted to blow out my brains in order to rid myself of such a difficult situation,’ the prince is alleged to have said, ‘but in the end I decided – not to desert Napoleon.’ Events inclined him to believe that his small army was being drawn into a trap by the Russians and Austrians. In these circumstances, he considered that marching into Saxony and joining Napoleon’s main force was the most politically promising decision, and one consistent with military honour. With no concrete political guarantees from Alexander, Napoleon remained the one ruler who had officially accepted the idea of the restoration of the Kingdom of Poland.26 On the strength of a convention signed with the Austrians, approximately 14,000 troops and officers headed for Saxony across Austrian lands. In the Duchy itself, there remained only the garrisons of the Modlin and Zamość fortresses, already besieged by the Russians. Częstochowa and Toruń had capitulated in April. The Duchy’s ministers likewise set out on the road to Dresden. The General Council of the Confederation decided to suspend its proceedings, in order to recommence them at a more propitious moment. Every member of the council had the right to make his own decision as to ‘where and when he would go’.27 Napoleon’s spring campaign, which augured well following the battles of Lützen and Bautzen, was interrupted by a truce agreed in June. During the next two months, the warring sides replenished their forces and sounded out the diplomatic possibilities for ending the conflict. In attempts at mediation undertaken by the Austrians, the proposal to liquidate the Duchy of Warsaw appeared as one of the conditions of peace, as Czartoryski had warned it would. The final arrangements, however, were to be decided on the battlefield. By the time military operations were resumed in August, Austria had already joined the anti-Napoleonic coalition. The Polish units, reduced to about 12,000 men as a result of disease and desertion, made up the 8th Corps of the Grande Armée. Dąbrowski’s division numbering roughly 5,000 soldiers, a cavalry corps consisting of Polish regiments, as well as the Chevaulégers of the Imperial Guard fought separately. At home in the Duchy, now under Russian occupation, news of Poles fighting under Napoleon’s eagles aroused strong emotions. The decisive moment of the 1813 campaign was the Battle of the Nations waged on 17–19 October at Leipzig. Poniatowski, promoted on the battlefield to the rank of marshal of France, fell as he covered the retreat of what remained of the Grande Armée. The losses sustained by the Polish units, including wounded and those taken into captivity, reached 10,000. The death of Poniatowski became the stuff of national legend. It made an enormous impression even on his opponents. When the news reached the allied general staff during the course of the battle, Alexander I turned to the generals in his entourage with the words: ‘Do you hear? The Polish commander is dead.’ On hearing the news, Schwarzenberg grabbed his forehead saying ‘Ah, my God, ah, my God’ and rode off to one side. Did he think then of his friendship with Prince Józef lasting many years, or their recent quarrels over the dictates of military honour? The news of the commander-in-chief ’s death had a depressing effect in the Duchy, including in circles that had not accepted his consistency in remaining on Napoleon’s side. Poniatowski’s heroism was underlined by Czartoryski, who wrote movingly in his diary: ‘A beautiful exemplary death worthy

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of emulation, may he live eternally in our memory,’ though he added: ‘Why did he not heed good counsel?’28 The few thousand Polish soldiers who survived Leipzig followed Napoleon to France, taking part as his only allies in the campaign of 1814. Fortresses in the Duchy capitulated: Zamość (25 November), Modlin (1 December) and Danzig (29 December), which was situated near the Duchy’s border, the garrison consisting mostly of Poles. The resistance of the fortresses throughout many months had kept the Napoleonic spirit alive. Napoleonic sentiments or perhaps rather Poles’ nostalgia for their own, often burdensome and much criticized, yet Polish, government was reinforced by the realities of Russian occupation. All foreign armies operating in the Polish lands in the years 1806–13 had demanded lodging, food, fodder, horses and carts from the inhabitants. However, they had generally exacted their demands with less ruthlessness than Russians who had Poles’ recent participation in the expedition to Moscow fresh in their minds. Costs incurred as a result of services rendered to the Russian army were estimated in 1815 to be 258 million zlotys. The country fell victim to organized plunder. Misery caused by the military supply system was supplemented by arbitrary commandeering and abuses carried out by lower-ranking Russian commanders, or by rape and robbery committed by their subordinates. This was accompanied by oppression of those who refused to cooperate, or were suspected of harbouring weapons or escaped prisoners of war from Napoleon’s armies; the Duchy’s citizens were sometimes deported deep into Russia or unlawfully incorporated into the ranks of the Russian army. The oppression suffered by the inhabitants was supposed to be relieved by the Deputy Provisional Council. But the council was unable or did not wish to control it. This was no simple matter considering that it was subordinate on many specific questions to the Russian commander-in-chief as well as to commanders of Russian units operating in the Duchy’s territory.29 For some inhabitants, however, Alexander’s invasion of the Duchy provided the stimulus for revealing previously concealed pro-Russian sympathies. It is difficult to identify unambiguously the circles that greeted the Russian advance guard with hope. The division sometimes represented by historians into aristocracy and wealthy szlachta willingly returning to the Russian option, on the one hand, and minor szlachta and townspeople cultivating a spirit of resistance and continuing attachment to Napoleonic ideas, on the other, should be regarded as a simplification. The Russian occupation of the Duchy and expected concurrent collapse of the Napoleonic system were certainly well received by its most ardent opponents, but these could be found in all the abovementioned groups. The mood accompanying the installation of Russian authority in the Duchy is hard to assess. The presence of Russian troops undoubtedly facilitated popularizing the plan to restore Poland under the protection of Alexander I. The support of advocates of the Russian option was sorely put to the test, however, by the arrival of the first Cossack units. After Napoleon’s defeat at Leipzig, some of the Duchy’s ministers remaining in Saxony were interned by occupying Coalition forces. Frederick Augustus met with a similar fate. Both territories under his rule – Saxony and the Duchy of Warsaw – now became bargaining chips in vicious haggling between the victorious powers. The state created by Napoleon at Tilsit continued to exist, although in correspondence between

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anti-Napoleonic coalition diplomats, it was referred to more and more frequently as ‘the former Prussian provinces’. To many contemporaries, including the part of the political elite and civil servants that had remained in the Duchy, it was obvious that the emigration of the authorities and imprisonment of the king did not indicate the collapse of the state. Chairman of the Senate Tomasz Ostrowski, who had remained in Warsaw, refused to endorse the occupying power with his own authority. In spring 1813, despite Czartoryski’s attempts to persuade him, he also refused to request Alexander to create a provisional government, arguing that power still belonged rightfully to Frederick Augustus. Civil servants found themselves in a more difficult position. Carrying out orders from the occupying authority and fulfilling obligations connected with its presence were regarded as obvious in those days. However, at the beginning of 1813, many civil servants refused to carry out their duties. They felt threatened by the Russian forces and the conflict between their allegiance to the king and the demands of the new authority. As many as nine prefects withdrew to their own estates or left the country. Only one remained at his post. Many sub-prefects, lower-ranking officials and members of department councils followed suit. The situation of civil servants was complicated by obvious attempts by the Provisional Supreme Council to transform the provisional power of the Russian occupying authorities into the actual power of Alexander I. An instruction introducing a new official seal or, in the case of the courts, formal confirmation of judgements in the name of the Deputy Provisional Council, was intended to serve precisely this end. This order, which was contrary to the law and the clear instruction left by Minister Łubieński urging judges to adjudicate in the name of Frederick Augustus, provoked a protest from the praesidium of the Duchy’s Court of Appeal. Judges threatened to collectively resign if the controversial clause was upheld, arguing that the king’s authority had not been nullified by any act of law, and so officials were still bound by their oath of allegiance to him. The occupying authorities nevertheless possessed the tsar’s power of proxy and could apply special measures against officials displaying devotion to the ‘former government’. The assembled judges were threatened with arrest. They relented therefore, letting it be known however that they surrendered under duress. Following the example of the Court of Appeal, provincial courts also refused to adopt the new seal or confirmation procedures. In these cases too, the local Russian authorities had appropriate methods for breaking resistance. The attitude of civil servants and judges hindered Czartoryski’s plans. During the following months of 1813, he divided his time between organizing pro-Russian support in the Duchy and persuading European diplomats to make Poland’s restoration a serious consideration in future peace negotiations. Crucial to his plans were attempts to organize public demonstrations in support of Alexander I. These were to prepare public opinion in the Duchy to accept Alexander’s sceptre, and provide him with an additional argument in negotiations with other European powers. In order to realize these aims, a Central Committee of the Duchy of Warsaw was founded in May 1813 consisting of representatives from individual department councils. It was to advise the Provisional Supreme Council, but at the same time represent inhabitants’ concerns about the distribution of liabilities to the army, or abuses carried out by it. In this

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instance too, there were demonstrations of loyalty to the Duchy’s lawful ruler. Members of the committee issued a request that they might inform Frederick Augustus of its establishment and assure him of their allegiance. Responding to news of Napoleon’s defeat at Leipzig and anxious about the future of the Duchy, the Central Committee at the end of November compiled a memorandum to Alexander I, in which they explained the patriotic motives guiding Poles who declared themselves on Napoleon’s side. At the same time, the committee requested the tsar take over championship of the Polish question. The committee’s appeal was to be reinforced by declarations of support flowing in from departmental councils. But the action did not fulfil the expectations of its initiators. Only four of the department councils sent satisfactory answers. Three others concentrated on the oppression suffered at the hands of Russian soldiers, and mentioned the need to remain loyal to Frederick Augustus.30 Individuals refusing to engage in activities initiated by supporters of the Russian option, as well as judges and civil servants resisting attempts to introduce a new legitimization of power bypassing Frederick Augustus, argued that subjects were obliged to remain loyal to their lawful ruler. Without underestimating the influence that an oath sworn to the king may have had, it is worth noting that many may also have been motivated by purely political considerations. Faced by the uncertain future of their occupied country, stressing the legality of Frederick Augustus’s rule was also a way of demonstrating support for the Duchy’s continued existence as a separate political entity and for the constitutional order prevailing in it. The reticence of the political elite and officials to engage on the Russian side faded in response to news of Napoleon’s defeat at Leipzig and the transference of military operations to France. Czartoryski’s initiatives gained greater support and attracted important individuals. At the beginning of 1814, the Senate also decided on a compromise. In a letter addressed to the tsar, senators stressed their allegiance to Frederick Augustus, interned by the Coalition, but their chief message was to ask the Russian ruler to protect ‘the integrity, rights and political existence’ of the Poles.31 The real change in position came, however, following Napoleon’s defeat in the spring of 1814 and his abdication on 6 April. It was affected by what happened to the remnants of the Polish army. After the abdication, General Dąbrowski, in his capacity as their formal superior, asked the emperor to release the Polish soldiers from his service. Having gained Napoleon’s testimony that ‘he always justly recognized the loyalty shown by the army of the Duchy of Warsaw and its courage on many battlefields, of which he was witness’, Dąbrowski appealed to Alexander I, then in Paris, to allow the Polish units to return home. His request made clear that the loyalty to Napoleon demonstrated by the Poles was the ‘strongest guarantee’ to Alexander that they knew how to value, and be grateful for, any ruler who endeavoured to restore Poland. Dąbrowski’s initiative was well received. The Russian ruler felt comfortable in the role of magnanimous benefactor, but the gesture of loyalty shown by the Poles to the conquered Napoleon he interpreted solely as an expression of their chivalric attitude. The remnants of the Polish regiments were not only allowed to return home, but also placed by Alexander I under the command of his brother, Grand Duke Constantine. On 24 April the tsar conducted a ceremonial inspection of the few thousand soldiers remaining in the Polish army. The review took place in a friendly atmosphere

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scrupulously maintained by both sides. It was marred, however, by a few minor incidents, such as the unwillingness of the Polish soldiers to remove Napoleonic emblems. Genuine dismay was caused by Colonel Józef Dwernicki, who, prompted by a soldierly sense of humour or lack of a proper sense of occasion, boasted of his cavalry’s training and ordered a fake charge on the tsar’s suite: ‘Judging by their faces … this surprise did not make the best of impressions.’ The tsar took leave of the assembled soldiers, however, with the cry: ‘Farewell till we meet in Warsaw!’ while earlier on he had conveyed his ‘sacred and solemn intention to work for your happiness’. At last these were the kind of gestures, for which advocates of the Russian option had been waiting in vain for a year. They did not yet amount to any official, political guarantee that the tsar would promote the Polish cause, but were nevertheless a clear signal that he was assuming the role of its protector. The audience granted by Alexander – on Czartoryski’s instigation – to Kościuszko, who begged him to take up the cause of Poland’s restoration and was received with ostentatious consideration, was interpreted in a similar light. The first Polish units soon returned home. Led by Wincenty Krasiński and Michał Sokolnicki, they entered the Duchy as a funeral procession escorting Poniatowski’s remains, which had been exhumed in Leipzig. Alexander’s agreement to the request of Polish officers for Poniatowski to be given a state funeral was prompted by the contemporary military custom of respecting the heroism of one’s enemies. To Prince Józef ’s subordinates as well as to public opinion in the Duchy, it was a clear signal that the Russia ruler was trying to win over Polish hearts.32 On Alexander’s orders, Polish prisoners of war, at least those who had not already been incorporated into the Russian army, were released. The next decision that encouraged hope in Alexander as the new protector of the Polish cause was the creation on 15 May of the Military Organizational Committee [Komitet Organizacyjny Wojskowy] headed by Dąbrowski. Its task was the immediate creation of the foundations for a new, 40,000-strong Polish army. Alexander I preferred to have yet another political and military argument under his belt in the form of a Polish army devoted to him. Not everyone was content, however, with nebulous allusions to the ‘work’ undertaken by Alexander for the ‘happiness’ of the Poles. A group of officers appealed to Dąbrowski to address their doubts about the army’s formal status, since ‘only the fatherland has the right to the sacrifice of our blood’. The Russian ruler could exploit this right, declared the signatories, so long as he ‘guaranteed’ the fatherland’s restoration. The ethical doubts prompted by the formation of an army without political guarantees from the tsar came to a head at the end of November and beginning of December 1814. At the Congress in Vienna, divergences in the demands with which the participants came to the table were becoming increasingly obvious. The question as to what was to happen to the territories once ruled by Frederick Augustus provoked sharp disagreement. Alexander’s plan to incorporate the Duchy of Warsaw into his sphere of influence in exchange for compensating Prussia by awarding it Saxony met with vigorous resistance from France, England and Austria. Because of the tense political situation, Grand Duke Constantine demanded a statement from the Military Organizational Committee as to whether, in case of hostilities, its members

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were ready to demonstrate their gratitude to the tsar by organizing the army despite the temporary indecision regarding the Polish question. After long and dramatic discussions, generals Kniaziewicz, Wojczyński and Paszkowski stated that too great a responsibility towards their compatriots had been placed on their shoulders for them to continue operating solely on the basis of faith in the tsar’s good intentions. Five other generals declared themselves for continuing work on building the army, so that, as one of them put it, ‘the storm did not catch us in disarray’. They realized that Polish reason of state demanded that in case of eventual armed conflict, Polish units should be able to support the Russian ruler. The risk of forfeiting their own personal reputations in the eyes of fellow countrymen, so they insisted, was a lesser evil than jeopardizing the restoration of Poland by refusing to organize its army. The majority of former Napoleonic officers collaborating with the committee supported this position.33 The attitude of the highest-ranking commanders, who began to rebuild the army on the instruction of Alexander I following Napoleon’s abdication, such as Dąbrowski, Wielhorski and Zajączek, was a clear indication that previous loyalties were no longer binding. The Polish army was relieved of one such loyalty by Napoleon himself. The other – the duty of allegiance to the Duchy’s official ruler – still formally in place, was somehow forgotten. Frederick Augustus’s letter releasing the Polish army from the oath of allegiance was read to it only on 20 June 1815. Meanwhile, the example of many soldiers, among whom standards of honour and loyalty were especially strong, might well have encouraged representatives of other milieus to change political direction. The choice of Alexander I as the new ‘saviour’ of Poland was also the only obvious one; there were no other candidates to play the role dreamed of by Poles. The transference of their political aspirations to this new protector was not accompanied, however, by enthusiasm comparable to that once aroused by the Emperor of the French. Acceptance of the Russian tsar was recognized by many as a sad necessity, by others as an act of political common sense. The mood of many representatives of the Duchy’s elite was conveyed perhaps by General Sułkowski, who until 1812 had been an enthusiast of Napoleon, but who declared in April 1814 that the Poles had no political alternative to Alexander I. The increased popularity of the Russian option was the result of a series of goodwill gestures from Alexander including his order limiting abuses carried out by Russian commanders in the Duchy. It is therefore not surprising that not only wellknown advocates of Russia, such as Czartoryski, agreed to participate in the work of Alexander’s new Civic Committee for Reforms [Komitet Cywilny Reform], whose task was to prepare changes to the law, finance and civil administration. The invitation to participate in its sessions was accepted without much ado by Minister of Finance Matuszewicz, chairman of the Senate Ostrowski, vice chairman of the General Council of the Confederation of the Kingdom of Poland Zamoyski, state councillors and envoys to the Sejm.34 Arguments about having to remain loyal to Frederick Augustus almost disappeared from debates about politics and public life. Not everyone was prepared, however, to accept the elevation of Alexander I to the position occupied until recently in many hearts and minds by Napoleon. Among the generals and officers returning home,

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there were demonstrations of continuing attachment to the French emperor in the form of resignations. Such a gesture could be afforded by officers who were financially independent, above all by noble landowners. Within the circles described by Niemcewicz in his diary in 1813 as ‘blindly devoted to the French’, individuals openly engaged in initiatives supporting the Russian option were treated as collaborators or traitors. The milieu still cultivating French sympathies was described by Czartoryski in his diary as a group of politicking younger officers and other ‘ragamuffins’ inciting public opinion in billiard rooms and taverns against the idea of Alexander I on the Polish throne. The influence that this group might have on the general mood in the Duchy was taken seriously by Czartoryski and his circle. An expression of their anxiety was the series of articles published in the Warsaw press during Napoleon’s Hundred Days. They expressed the concern that Napoleon’s return to France should not push Poles into actions incompatible with common sense – that is, towards an anti-Russian uprising. An appeal signed by an anonymous group of ‘Poles’ also appeared at the time, challenging Napoleonic supporters to re-examine their ‘former mistakes’ and accept the advantages flowing from ‘the future protection of a powerful and benevolent Ruler’. Dislike of Russians, however, did not translate into readiness for action. News of Napoleon’s return from Elba and the outbreak of a fresh war prompted no greater response in Warsaw than the enhanced vigilance of the city’s Russian garrison, and no doubt raised the temperature of discussion in the coffee houses. It is hard to imagine any other reaction – Napoleon was a lot further away than the Russian garrisons.35 Two days after Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo, that is on 20 June 1815, ‘at five in the morning, fifty gun salutes heralded a day of celebration, which the general joy and gratitude of the capital’s inhabitants turned into a national holiday’, The Warsaw Gazette reported.36 A solemn Mass was celebrated in the cathedral attended by the bishops, dignitaries and generals present in the city, as well as by crowds of citizens. A manifesto from Alexander I was read out, in which he underlined the respect that Polish efforts to regain their fatherland had inspired in him, though their zeal had often led them ‘onto a path that could not lead to it’. After an era of errors and defeats, stated the manifesto, the time for restoring Poland, anticipated by all, had now arrived. News of its territorial composition was received with little enthusiasm – the Kingdom of Poland, created at the Congress of Vienna, was smaller than the Duchy of Warsaw, because part had been ceded to Prussia as the Grand Duchy of Posen. The new ruler realized Poles’ disappointment and explained the territorial decision as an essential consequence of having to compromise with the demands of the remaining powers: ‘A fatherland had to be retained for you that could not become a cause of envy, or an object of anxiety to its neighbours, or a reason for a European war.’ After this manifesto from the tsar, a declaration was read to the assembled people from Frederick Augustus, whereby he released the Poles from their oath of allegiance. This marked the effective end of the Duchy of Warsaw. There followed a solemn act of homage to the new ruler, the last of many during the past nineteen years. At the same time, the commander-in-chief of the Polish army, Grand Duke Constantine, took the oath to the new king. After the solemnities, the dignitaries sat down to a dinner for two hundred guests. The ordinary people made merry in the squares ‘as beverages were

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distributed for free’. A day which passed to the almost perpetual rumbling of guns, ended with a ball at the Royal Castle for the elite. The events of 20 June 1815 marked the symbolic end to the Napoleonic era in Poland’s history. In reality, it had happened more than twelve months earlier. Matuszewicz’s words in June 1812 had proved to be prophetic: ‘We will have no choice here between one kind of Poland or another, between this or that emperor.’

Epilogue

The Duchy of Warsaw existed officially for not quite eight years. Its political independence, relative anyway given its position as a Napoleonic protectorate, lasted for less than six years – it ended with the Russian occupation of 1813. The state that became the focus of the hopes and emotions of Poles who believed it would become the nucleus of a future Kingdom of Poland restored by Napoleon, was short lived. The Duchy was an ephemeral political phenomenon, like many that appeared on the European continent during the stormy era of the Napoleonic wars. The attention that Russian, Austrian and Prussian diplomacy devoted to it in subsequent years, however, suggests it was something more than a peripheral political creature, the result of a compromise between the ‘Emperor of the West’ and the ‘Lord of the North’, both of whom were tired of war. Adam Jerzy Czartoryski explained to Alexander the effect of the small state on the mood of his compatriots by calling on national emotions and aspirations: ‘As the ghost of former Poland, the Duchy of Warsaw conjures up an inexpressible spell; it’s as though, having lost a dear friend, his shadow stood before us and prophesied his imminent resurrection.’1 Can the significance of the Duchy of Warsaw be reduced, however, exclusively to nostalgic memory? Evaluation of the opportunities offered by Napoleon’s protectorate has provoked considerable controversy. Attempts to weigh up the balance sheet of profit and loss tend to be linked to assessments of Napoleon’s attitude to the Poles and the role he played in Polish history. Contemporary opinions oscillated between two extremes. The first is reflected in the furious note Czartoryski wrote in his diary after hearing of the death of Poniatowski and thousands of Polish soldiers at Leipzig: ‘Napoleon is a madman and a scoundrel. He has cast a funeral shroud over Poland.’ Undaunted supporters of the French emperor, on the other hand, would have subscribed without hesitation to words written fifty years later by Walerian Łukasiński, a former officer in the Duchy’s army, and after 1815 a patriotic conspirator, recognized as a martyr for the independence cause, who ended his life as a state prisoner in a Russian dungeon: ‘Napoleon deceived the Poles for his own ends – so we have heard a million times and in various languages. Let anyone believe it who wants, but Poles, whom it interests more closely, will never believe it.’2 It was possible only to love Napoleon, or hate him. This also affected historians, whose discussions on the achievements of the Napoleonic era were dominated for years by heated arguments between critics of the emperor’s policy towards the Poles and its results, and those who perceived lasting benefits for the cause of independence. At the turn of the twentieth century, the most outspoken representative of the former was Tadeusz Korzon, who harshly criticized the political judgement of Napoleon’s

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supporters at the time of the Duchy and inquired: ‘Why is it that with us, in our political reasoning, two and two never make four?’ His main opponent was Szymon Askenazy, who showed that at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, it was Napoleon who embodied ideas of progress and the sovereignty of nations, noting also that at that time Poland, erased from the political map of Europe, ‘experienced good from no one but that one foreign ruler, that one great European’.3 According to many historians, the state created by Napoleon was not an unstable provisional construction; on the contrary, it opened up advantageous prospects for the Poles. Although, as the emperor’s critics underlined, his attitude to the Polish question was determined above all by the interests of France and the Bonaparte dynasty, he demonstrated considerable sympathy and understanding for Polish aspirations towards independence. Certainly in this respect, he was no substitute for Alexander I, in whom many saw the ideal candidate for the ‘reviver’ of Poland. The French emperor did not make the restoration of Poland the main goal of his policies, for which he can hardly be blamed. In moments important to the Polish cause, however, during the wars of 1806–7, 1809 and 1812, Napoleon made clear to his Polish contacts that political solutions beneficial to them depended above all on the course of military operations, as well as on their own efforts and determination. Although the Polish question never occupied an all-important place in Napoleon’s foreign policy, he nevertheless contributed significantly towards realizing Poles’ dreams for their own state. The Duchy of Warsaw, created thanks to Napoleon’s victories, occupied admittedly only a small proportion of the lands of the former Commonwealth; yet it could become the centre of political and military activities aimed at restoring Poland. The Poles had to wait until the beginning of the twentieth century for a similar opportunity. Neither before 1806, nor for a long time afterwards, did anyone give them more than Napoleon – and on this too hinged the tragedy of Polish political history in the nineteenth century. The possibility of making the Duchy of Warsaw the basis for unifying former Polish lands was confirmed by the Peace of Schönbrunn (1809), the terms of which substantially expanded the Duchy’s territory. The crowning of these efforts was to follow the victorious outcome of the 1812 war. It is worth underlining that with the establishment of the General Confederation of the Kingdom of Poland, joined subsequently by the provisional government in the territories of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania, a formal restitution of the state liquidated by the partitions had been accomplished. Its further destiny was to be decided by the military situation. Fortune, of whose loyalty Napoleon spoke begrudgingly at his meeting with Polish officers after the Battle of Leipzig in 1813, this time withheld her favours. Although the Duchy of Warsaw was definitely not a main concern of European high politics, it is hard to dismiss it as entirely marginal. There is no doubt that it played a significant role in the strategic power game being enacted in Europe. This question, occasionally mentioned by French and Polish historians, deserves a separate study taking into account the place of the ‘small state with high hopes’ in the foreign policy of Napoleon, of Austria, Prussia and Russia, and also of the German states – if only Saxony or the Confederation of the Rhine.4 The Duchy’s role in European politics, overestimated by certain Polish historians, is largely unknown in European and

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American historiography of the Napoleonic period, which tends to regard this part of Europe as periphery and of little political or strategic significance. However the ‘ghost of former Poland’ did not haunt the mood only of Poles. Along with the appearance of the Duchy on the map, the possibility of rebuilding the Polish state, thrown out – or so it seemed – from the political imagination of European elites in 1795, returned to politics. From autumn 1806 it became once more an element in the rivalry between competing scenarios for stabilizing power relations in Europe. The Duchy itself did not play a leading role. Coalition politicians and Napoleon himself paid greater attention to the situation in Italy and the German states. In one particular area of great power relations, however, the Duchy was crucial. Its status and future were perhaps the most sensitive issue in French–Russian relations. Thus, the Duchy’s fate became one of the central issues in European politics, since the basis for the new European order created by Napoleon had been the alliance concluded with Alexander I at Tilsit. In addition, the existence of the Duchy of Warsaw had an important impact on relations between Austria, Prussia and Russia. At the courts of the partitioning powers, the reappearance of the Polish question reinforced the perceived need for united opposition to any attempt to rescind the partitioning treaties. At the same time, however, in view of the former rivalries between the three powers and the shifting balance of power and alliances in Europe, the desire arose to extract additional political and territorial advantages at the expense of previous allies. Russia excelled at this kind of political pragmatism: in 1807 and 1809 it grabbed, at the expense of the conquered Prussia and Austria, parts of the former Commonwealth – the Białystok and Tarnopol districts. The significance of the Duchy, and hence also of the Polish question in European politics, was confirmed by the disputes waged between Russia, Prussia, Austria, Britain and France over the future status of the Polish lands at the Congress of Vienna. The Polish question was one of the most important issues discussed at the sessions. It not only defined the political situation in East-Central Europe, but also had enormous significance for the creation of a system – declared to be one of the main aims of the negotiations – ensuring a stable balance of power on the continent. From the perspective of the victors, the French emperor had left a mass of strategic, territorial, dynastic and legal problems that demanded solutions. It was no easy task. The situation was complicated by the often contradictory interests of the negotiating powers. The Congress sessions, originally planned to last one month, lasted nine times longer. Specific issues affecting the Italian or German states turned out to be irresolvable without prior decisions about the future of the Duchy’s lands and the territorial configuration of the Kingdom of Poland, for whose creation Alexander I strove, thus aiming to physically embody his ‘beloved idea’ of restoring Poland and in so doing, enhance Russia’s influence in Europe. The clash between Alexander’s ambitions and Prussia’s territorial appetites on the one hand, and Austria, France and Britain, who were trying to restrain them on the other, ended in compromise. The Departments of Poznań and Bydgoszcz were separated from the territory of the Duchy and restored to Prussian rule as the Grand Duchy of Posen. Kraków together with lands immediately surrounding it was proclaimed a free city under the protection of Austria, Prussia and Russia. The rest of the territory of the former Napoleonic protectorate was made into the Kingdom of

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Poland under the sceptre of Alexander I, stressing that the Russian ruler could ‘grant it internal expansion, as he sees fit’, which implied general acceptance of his attaching to the kingdom other lands of the former Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth that had remained under Russian domination. Russia, Prussia and Austria were obliged in addition to guarantee their Polish subjects the possibility of possessing their own political representation and national institutions.5 The Congress decisions satisfied no one in Poland. For Polish national life, however, and the future prospect of reuniting former Commonwealth lands, they created infinitely better conditions than those which had existed between 1795 and 1806. Such conditions would have been unlikely without the prior existence of the Duchy of Warsaw. The balance sheet of the Duchy of Warsaw ought not to omit the supranational aspect, since the Duchy was part of Napoleon’s European project. The system created by the French emperor, defined rather imprecisely as a ‘great empire’, consisted of different circles or levels of influence. Its centre was France, whose borders expanded with time to absorb Holland, among other places, or parts of the Italian or German borderlands. The next sphere was the Kingdom of Italy governed by Napoleon, as well as various more or less permanent state organisms, where power was wielded by members of the Bonaparte family. Napoleon’s zone of influence also included states not governed directly by him or members of his family, but dependent on him because of his special role as their protector, and sometimes also creator. Also parts of the great empire, according to some scholars, were states formally independent of Napoleon but bound to him by treaty, which imposed on them obligations to maintain his armies in their territories, participate in the continental blockade or contribute contingents of soldiers to the Grande Armée. This latter category, being the least cohesive, is the most questionable – for however much we may speak of the vassal status of Prussia after 1807, Austria after 1809 can hardly be regarded as part of the great empire. On the other hand, states founded as a result of Napoleon’s victories, or where he exercised direct influence over their political system, surely count as parts of the empire. French hegemony in Europe did not just depend on military domination but also on the similarity of the legal systems adopted in the dependent states, which thereby guaranteed greater stability. In the area of civil law, principles derived from the French Revolution and embraced by the Napoleonic Code were binding. In the area of political life, Napoleonic Europe relied on a powerful executive which dominated legislative organs. Its supremacy over parliament and other representative bodies was meant to promote the stability of the political and social system. The free interplay of political forces was restricted, reducing the opposition de facto to the role of constructive critic, who could point out imperfections in the practice of government but had no right to participate in its modification, and who supported existing authority rather than aspired to replace it. The Duchy of Warsaw, created by Napoleon and subject to him politically and militarily, and partly also economically, was incorporated into this system. The new system benefited from measures included in the French Constitution of 1804. Some measures introduced into the Duchy were subsequently adopted in turn by the constitution of the Kingdom of Westphalia created in 1807, and based on the Westphalian one, by the constitutions of several states in the Confederation of the Rhine.6 Meanwhile,

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a particular legal and constitutional canon functioned throughout Napoleonic Europe, from which models and specific solutions could be derived, especially when it came to defining general precepts of law. This surely explains why discussions held in the Duchy’s ruling circles about whether the 1809 Sejm diary should be published referred to a ban on similar practices in the Napoleonic constitution imposed on Spain.7 The similarity of these constitutional models shows how the Duchy of Warsaw became part of Napoleon’s plan for the political restructuring of the continent, thus making it one element in a new universalistic system built around France. More recently, historians researching the way Napoleon’s spheres of influence were organized across Europe stress local differences and traditional elements surviving in individual states within the wider framework of the Napoleonic order. The endurance of pre-Napoleonic legal structures and their ability to adapt to models imposed from outside appear to have been considerable. There is no doubt that from the legal and constitutional point of view, the great empire was far less uniform than previously thought. Apart from such general assumptions, like the principles of personal freedom and equality before the law or, in the field of political organization, of domination of the executive power and restrictions on representative bodies, the separate states retained considerable diversity in their legal and political systems. On the local and regional levels, the Napoleonic constitutional model often departed from its French prototype. This was certainly true in the Duchy of Warsaw, whose constitution is recognized by Polish legal and institutional historians as being an example of especially far-reaching concessions in favour of local constitutional traditions, evident for instance in the creation of a bicameral parliament and its practices, the principle of direct elections of envoys and commune deputies to the Chamber of Envoys, and the preservation of the local sejmiki as electoral assemblies of the szlachta.8 Significantly more important in the functioning of the Duchy’s political system than relics of former laws and institutions, often recalling their prototypes only in name, was the actual practice of political life. A comparative study of governing institutions, their powers and limitations on their activities, the real influence of representative bodies on the executive power or possibility of a viable opposition and its nature, would yield interesting conclusions about the principles controlling the political scene in the various states within Napoleon’s orbit. On the basis of Polish historical research to date, one may put forward the hypothesis that the Duchy’s internal politics differed from the reality in other Napoleonic protectorates. Similarities certainly existed in constitutional principles – centralized power, the supremacy of the executive over the legislative, and limitations on the role of representative bodies. Also similar was the level of dependency of the state’s rulers on decisions made by its protector and the limited sovereignty resulting from this in both foreign and internal relations. Clear similarities are likewise apparent in ideology and social engineering, of which the most typical example was the intense Napoleonic propaganda, emphasizing especially the role of the army in the state, and transforming itself into an official cult of Napoleon – which appears to have been much more spontaneous among Poles, however, than among other peoples. Not all Poles accepted it unconditionally. Among many, accustomed to a model of full participation by citizens in political life, the restrictions imposed by the Napoleonic

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constitution provoked animosity. Compared to other Napoleonic protectorates, however, there was substantial leeway in the Duchy for political activity which exploited the potential created by the constitution, or not envisaged by it. It seems that the scale of criticism of the government, and freedom of discussion surrounding the law and constitution, were greater than in other Napoleonic protectorates. In many of these states, rejection of government draft bills by parliament, unofficial debates after the close of official business, or addressing appeals to the ruler not permitted by law would have been regarded as a dangerous manifestation of resistance. There were several reasons why the Duchy of Warsaw was able to retain considerable potential – at least for a Napoleonic protectorate – for legal opposition. They stemmed largely from the heritage of noble democracy and traditional models of active citizenship still alive in the mentality of the szlachta. This need to participate in political life at both the local and national levels was understood and accepted by the Duchy’s governing circles, which were composed of people whose active contribution to public life had begun under the Commonwealth. Cautious attempts to broaden opportunities for politically active citizenship also met no strong objection from Frederick Augustus, whose position in the state was much weaker in reality than envisaged by the constitution, due to his almost permanent absence. It seems that the king’s tolerance of unconstitutional political activities undertaken by envoys also sprang from his knowledge of Polish political realities, stemming from the Wettin dynastic tradition and also from his own personal interest, since the possibility of his occupying the Polish throne had arisen briefly in 1791–2. A more important influence on the functioning of the Duchy’s political system was the attitude of Napoleon himself. Information about opposition envoys attempting to widen the powers of the Sejm reached him via the French residents stationed in Warsaw but provoked no sharp reaction. It is likely that Napoleon, a pragmatic and intelligent politician, appreciated the extent of the differences between the system introduced into the Duchy by the new constitution and Polish political tradition. Winning over Polish minds required a degree of tolerance of their ‘recklessness’, generally regarded as their characteristic trait, and of minor deviations in political behaviour from the letter of the Napoleonic system. It is also worth remembering that the Duchy of Warsaw arose largely thanks to the spontaneous support of its citizens favouring the Napoleonic option. Appealing to the patriotism, zeal and civic sacrifices of the Duchy’s inhabitants proved essential also during the wars of 1809 and 1812–13. Involvement in creating the infrastructure for the Grande Armée’s operations in 1806–7, and their determination to create a Polish army and the foundations of their own state, might well have increased the emperor’s trust in their loyalty and persuaded him to permit greater political freedoms than in other Napoleonic states. Napoleon’s acceptance of the specific characteristics of the state created at Tilsit was also a result of its geopolitical position. The Duchy’s situation on the frontier of the great empire had military and political consequences: especially after the retreat westward of the last French units in 1808, Napoleon would have found it hard to control the situation without the participation of the Duchy’s elite. The Duchy, bordering on Russia, could become a sphere of influence for Alexander I, who was constantly flirting with the Poles. In order to prevent this, Napoleon had to keep alive Poles’ aspirations for

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regaining their own state and conduct a relatively flexible policy taking account of local traditions. The Duchy’s designation as the eastern ‘march’ of the empire did not imply a peripheral status. Its geographical position and the importance of the Polish question in European politics enabled Napoleon to hold Russia, Austria and Prussia in political and military check. To Napoleon, the loyalty of the Duchy’s political elite was crucial, as were the support of its citizens for the Napoleonic option and the state’s ability to recruit hosts of fresh conscripts. In return for these advantages, relative freedom in internal politics and minor deviations from the constitutional model imposed on other protectorates were prices worth paying. The need to maintain the army, which was very large in relation to Polish historical experience and the financial capabilities of a small state, the immense cost of expanding fortresses, and the eventual participation of the Duchy’s army in the French emperor’s armed conflicts beyond its borders were aspects of the Napoleonic protectorate that aroused the greatest emotions both at the time and among future generations. The balance sheet of the era should also include the state’s financial burdens as well as the cost in human lives – not only the thousands killed or wounded in battle, or incorporated as prisoners of war into the Russian army in 1812, but also those, rarely taken into account, who died of starvation and disease afflicting parts of the Duchy as a result of military operations. To date, no exhaustive calculations have been made of the human losses suffered by the Polish army in the years 1806–15. Their accuracy, however, might well turn out to be approximate, given the shortcomings of military accountancy and its marked tendency – typical not only of that age – to embroider the facts. Could these losses have reached 40,000? 60,000? 100,000? It is currently impossible to say, but it is clear that these losses, for a political entity of some 4.3 million inhabitants, were considerable. The human costs of the Polish army’s participation in Napoleon’s wars were nevertheless enormous. Their impact on the general mood is difficult to assess; much suggests, however, that their extent became an argument against the Napoleonic option only retrospectively. The reaction of public opinion to the military losses was possibly one of the fundamental differences between the Duchy of Warsaw and other Napoleonic protectorates. It arose from the different collective motivations underlying the decision to accept Napoleon’s protection. In the Kingdom of Italy and states affiliated to the Confederation of the Rhine, especially after 1812, high expenditure on the army, its participation in operations of the Grande Armée and the human sacrifices associated with it, provoked intense dissatisfaction in society. In the Duchy of Warsaw, however, people remembered that before 1806, thousands of Polish recruits had perished fighting in the armies of the partitioning powers without any benefit to the Polish cause. Although military losses were deplored, they were treated as the price to be paid for the risk of action at Napoleon’s side to regain independent statehood. Simplifying matters slightly, we can assert that the Poles were one of the few nations motivated to serve in the Grande Armée not only from a sense of duty, desire for glory or enhancement of a personal career. The large army that contributed to Napoleon’s victories was regarded as an essential condition for Poland’s restoration. The size of the Duchy’s armed forces, regarded by Poles as a symbol of their revitalizing statehood and object of national pride, also defined the state’s importance on the political stage.

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In terms of military potential, the Duchy of Warsaw could not compete with leading powers – France, Russia, Austria, Prussia and Great Britain. However, with an army that grew from 30,000 to 75,000 in the space of five years, it occupied a paramount position among Napoleon’s satellites and other ‘secondary’ European states. In 1812 the Duchy’s army exceeded those of the largest states of the Confederation of the Rhine, which had approximately 20,000 to 40,000 soldiers in their ranks. At that time, the armed forces of the Kingdom of Italy were not much bigger (over 80,000 men).9 Participation in the campaigns of 1806–7, 1809 and 1812–14 provided – brutal as it may sound given the huge losses – good military training. Officers, non-commissioned officers and soldiers who gained experience under the command of Poniatowski, Dąbrowski and Zajączek were to create the military hierarchy of the Kingdom of Poland; fifteen years after the liquidation of the Duchy of Warsaw, on the battlefields of the November Uprising (1830–1), they were able to meet their Russian opponents on equal terms thanks to the combat training and tactical knowledge acquired from their former commanders. The armed effort of the Duchy of Warsaw and the exploits of its army entered national legend. The level of Polish military engagement on Napoleon’s side, and human loss associated with it, have largely defined perceptions of the Duchy by subsequent generations. For some, its history became a repository for models of determination and self-sacrifice. Others, less numerous, saw only political naivety and blindness to the cult of a conqueror who treated the surrogate Polish state as a mere frontier garrison and supplier of cannon fodder. There is no doubt that in an age of constant war, Napoleon’s attitude to the Polish protectorate created at Tilsit was determined primarily by its potential for mobilization. The Duchy of Warsaw was not, however, exclusively a ‘Napoleonic military camp out of which little more could emerge’, as the writer Tomasz Łubieński recently put it. Napoleon gave the Polish cause a political opportunity, which could no longer be effectively exploited after the military defeats of 1812–13. His significance in Polish history thus extends beyond a brief episode of tragic, albeit colourful battle scenarios. Barbara Grochulska has called it a ‘small great epoch’, which she defines as a period when the ‘creative energy’ emerges of ‘a phenomenon able to transform the present and mark out the paths of the future’.10 It is possible to identify several areas where the effects of that energy were felt. In the sphere of internal politics, basing the electoral law on criteria of wealth, education and services to one’s country created conditions for wider active participation in political life. The principle according to which commune deputies and envoys – although appointed by separate electoral assemblies – had the same rights in the Chamber of Envoys meant that non-noble representatives gained, for the first time in Polish history, the status of full participants in Sejm debates. Irrespective of the still limited political activism of townsmen and peasants, this was enormously important in the process of democratization and emancipation of particular social groups. Jerzy Skowronek, in drawing up his balance sheet of the Polish Napoleonic era, pointed out the rapid acceleration in political change. This included a decline in influence of radical movements on Polish political mentalities. The catastrophe of the partitions and the experience of Jacobin terror in France had weakened their faith in the realization of Enlightenment slogans for improving social relations. Napoleon’s later hostility towards revolutionary ‘anarchy’ and intention to organize society according

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to principles of stability and authority did not favour the spread of radical ideas. The result in the Duchy was the final disintegration of the Polish Jacobins as a political group that mattered. At the same time, however, the importance of their staunchest opponents – noble conservatives consistently contesting any change to political life or reconstruction of society – also declined. Real political power lay instead with the circles which were closest, in terms of their vision of society and the future, to the liberal conservative ideas then taking shape in Western Europe. This group consisted of representatives of the szlachta and aristocracy who accepted the Napoleonic model of the state, including elements of the legal and constitutional inheritance of the Revolution, but who were convinced of the need to adapt it to Polish conditions. They accepted some modification to existing social relations, but tried to restrict their extent and tempo. A good example of this mentality in action was the attempt in 1807 to precisely define the clauses of the constitution referring to peasants, which culminated in the December decree. Liberal conservativism, represented at various levels of the Duchy’s governing circles, was strongly evident also after 1815 in the Kingdom of Poland. At the same time, there was a certain rapprochement between former political opponents. Disappointment with the mechanisms of revolutionary change in political and social relations, and belief that overriding national aspirations demanded acceptance of the political and constitutional models imposed by Napoleon as well as their observation in Polish conditions, created a plane of understanding between formerly opposed groups. In the new situation, Polish Jacobins realized the need to cooperate with representatives of the elite by birth, while former opponents of the Revolution recognized that the introduction of some of its principles into the Polish lands did not imply political and moral disaster. This created situations in which seemingly exotic alliances became possible, such as the ever closer cooperation from 1809 between former radical Józef Kalasanty Szaniawski and the conservative Stanisław Zamoyski, and after 1813 with Adam Jerzy Czartoryski. An additional effect of this rapprochement, which was also a consequence of the growing influence of German idealist philosophy on the Polish intellectual elite, was a fresh shift in emphasis in the collective aims of Poles. Put simply, at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the ideas of the state and society predominated in collective mentality: the Jacobins were in favour of reforms guaranteeing the emancipation of townspeople and peasants, while the conservative szlachta defended the privileges of their own estate and its dominant position in the state. As Jerzy Skowronek observed, the initial post-partition years and period of the Duchy of Warsaw were marked in contrast by ‘a tendency to place stronger emphasis on the role of the nation, which embraced all social groups and recognized the pre-eminence of separate national values and interests within the more universal political and social ideas’. The state was now seen above all through the prism of the nation and its needs.11 This approach was to more or less define Polish political thought throughout the nineteenth century. Paradoxically, this shift in emphasis happened in a period when social structures were undergoing increasing dynamic transformation. Enormously influential in this respect was the introduction of Napoleonic legislation into the former Prussian

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Partition. The principles of equality before the law and individual freedom had serious consequences for people both collectively and personally. The abolition of serfdom and the right of peasants to freely relocate increased the scale of peasant migration in search of a better life, despite attempts by the authorities and by landowners to control it. Such processes certainly instilled dynamism into the stagnant social structures pertaining until then. Leaving the confines of a village or provincial town might not only enhance personal life prospects, but it also broadened geographical horizons, and contacts between migrating groups or individuals. Along with increased social mobility, there also followed in subsequent decades ‘a translocation of populations from different social groups and different localities’, as Danuta Rzepniewska has observed, thus encouraging new types of social bond.12 In the longer perspective, conditions were created encouraging urbanization and industrialization, which in this part of the Polish lands (the former Duchy) were to gain particular momentum in the near future. Social transformations also came about as a result of the economic situation in the country. Loss and destruction caused by military operations, high taxes, cost of services rendered to the army or fall in the export of grain through the port of Danzig, caused by rigorous enforcement of the continental blockade, form only part of the picture. In the credit column of the balance sheet, we should record the spread of new forms of agricultural production connected with the need to exploit corn surpluses. The difficulties involved in finding outlets for grain inclined some landowners to intensify agricultural production, while they brought financial ruin to others and a decline in economic status. The new conditions of agricultural production prompted a redistribution of landed property often through the auction or buying up of debtladen estates. A process of change therefore took place in the social composition of the landowning class, where alongside the old szlachta, representatives of a wealthy bourgeoisie began to appear. The majority of these came from the new financial and commercial elite emerging in towns and cities, whose substantial income was based on provisioning the army, alcohol monopolies, tax farming, and so on. Capital accumulated under the Duchy of Warsaw, as well as the contacts and experience acquired by entrepreneurs, were to play an important role in the economic revival and beginnings of industrialization in the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Posen after 1815. The financial might of certain nineteenth-century dynasties of industrialists and financiers had its source in the careers of contractors who invested at the time of the Duchy of Warsaw in industrial production, financial services and other money-making ventures. A well-known example of success based on capital amassed before 1815 is the career of contractor Piotr Antoni Steinkeller, son of a Kraków merchant, who invested from the 1820s in mines, steel mills, postal services, river shipping and railways in the Kingdom of Poland. The emergence of ambitious, nouveau-riche entrepreneurs was not the only tendency characteristic of the social changes taking place during the Duchy of Warsaw. The social landscape was also defined by the presence of new – or previously not numerous – professionals, including the growing number of intellectuals, the germ of the class later known as the intelligentsia. Transformations of a social or professional nature also took place in the army. Mechanisms of advancement or appointment to

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officer ranks were based increasingly on internship and training, services rendered, education and ability. Meteoric careers were still often enjoyed by officers from wealthy and well-connected families. However, the highest ranks, the bedrock of the whole officer class, were increasingly attained by representatives of the minor szlachta or townsmen, who treated army service not only as their patriotic duty stemming from the noble tradition of the levée en masse, but also as their main livelihood. In these respects, the Duchy of Warsaw marked the beginning of modern society, where position in the social hierarchy was increasingly determined – in addition to the inevitable dose of good luck – not so much by background, but by personal wealth, natural abilities, education and services rendered. The basis of these new principles of social organization was the Napoleonic Code, which was to survive the downfall of its instigator and remain for more than a hundred years a crucial component of the legal system binding in the Polish lands.13 The social changes taking place in the Duchy of Warsaw were made possible because of the emergence of the modern state. Its functioning demanded the introduction of a legal system which, as Jerzy Skowronek noted, would be one step ahead of ‘socio-political reality’, thereby stimulating further social change. The Napoleonic model of the state depended on a centralized and efficient state apparatus. Many contemporaries must have recognized the Duchy of Warsaw as an embodiment of the Enlightenment ideal of a rigorous and effective civil service, which not only governed the country but also identified its needs, stimulated economic development and encouraged civilizational advancement. The criteria by which state employees were selected contributed, at least in principle, to the breaking down of class barriers. Relying on Napoleonic models, the appointment of officials was determined therefore by loyalty to the emperor, as well as competence and abilities. The introduction of examinations for state officials, which Minister Łubieński so resolutely defended, likened the Duchy, as it did Napoleonic France, to the model of power described by the social sciences as a meritocracy, where the exercise of power and high position in the social hierarchy depended on service and competence.14 In practice, the competence of many officials no doubt left much to be desired, while the examination procedure itself could turn into a game of pretence geared towards appointing a candidate who enjoyed the necessary patronage. Selection, however, could not have been entirely negative. A good example, at the highest level of power, of selection according to competence was the personnel policy of Minister of Justice Łubieński. An increasing number of candidates fulfilling the necessary educational and professional criteria graduated from the School of Law and Administration in Warsaw and the Kraków Academy, where a department of ‘Practice for all judicial and political institutions of the Duchy of Warsaw’ was created. Qualified officials did not appear only in central state institutions. Research on provincial urban centres reveals that a class of professional civil servants had arisen there too, managing to govern with meagre funds and concerned to rebuild the infrastructure of the town.15 The Duchy’s civil service was led by people previously involved in the reforms of the Four Years Sejm, who understood the need to modernize the law and structures of the state. They thus perceived an opportunity to realize their aims in the protection of the French emperor. There was plenty of desire for action. The effects were quantifiable – in drawing up her ‘final balance sheet’ of the era, Barbara Grochulska

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notes the unquestioned achievements of the state: ‘The army survived with its excellent professional officer corps. … The political system survived because the constitution of the Kingdom of Poland was based on similar principles. The Civil Code remained in force. … So did the civil service. Two higher educational institutions founded under the Duchy formed the embryo of the University of Warsaw. Elementary and secondary schools were rebuilt – or in some cases built from scratch – and developed further under the Kingdom of Poland.’ These achievements largely define the significance of this brief era in Polish history. Napoleon – in Jerzy Skowronek’s estimation – realized his own political vision in creating the Duchy of Warsaw, and exploited it militarily and economically. However, he gave Poles ‘greater opportunity than anyone else in the entire post-partition period to resolve the Polish question’. He also developed their ability to think about the state and to function within the framework of a modern legal and constitutional system. Marian Kallas claimed that the legal norms and institutional solutions adopted then formed ‘the organizational stage in the process of creating modern Polish statehood in the post-partition age’. According to Anna Rosner, this was ‘a time of great civilizational revolution’ for the law and judiciary.16 Let us add that within that estimable surrogate state, conditions also existed for the free development of Polish science, scholarship and culture – a freedom which Poles were denied during a large proportion of the nineteenth century. Certainly, they were years like few others. Their ground-breaking role in Poland’s modernization was elaborated even before the Second World War by Marceli Handelsman, who recognized that the constitution conferred by Napoleon ‘respected the existing social structures in Poland and restored Poles’ language and political rights; by abolishing serfdom, introducing equality before the law and imposing even a new legal code, it prepared the way for the eventual lifting of barriers dividing social classes, and hastened the development of progress: the birth of the modern nation’. Many years later, Handelsman’s thesis was strongly endorsed by Bogusław Leśnodorski, who asserted that ‘The Duchy introduced the initial … institutional foundations – contained in the Constitution of 1807, the judicial law and prolific administrative legislation – for the “big push” in the country’s economy and civilizational development in a later period. Without the Duchy and the transformations initiated or continued under it, it would be hard to imagine the development of nineteenthcentury civilization in the core Polish lands being as it was, even though held back and deformed by the flawed social systems of the partitioning powers.’17 The importance of the transformations to various aspects of political and social life is acknowledged by most historians. In appreciating their significance, however, we should not exaggerate. While underlining the modernity of political and constitutional models and the effectiveness of a civil service based on Napoleonic principles, it is worth also recalling Resident Vincent’s complaints about the typical – in his opinion – disorder in Poles’ exercising of authority and inability to make competent decisions. Was he just being malicious? Possibly, although similar accusations were made by Marshal Davout, who was more sympathetic towards them. It is worth noting Dominique de Pradt’s grumbles about the difficulties caused by the poor running of printing houses, administrative offices and postal services, lack of law enforcement, and insubordination of lower-ranking

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officials, all of which inclined him to regard the Duchy’s civil service as existing in a state of ‘infancy’. His attitude could be seen as an example of the unbearably patronizing sense of superiority with which the ambassador, endowed according to Handelsman with ‘exceptional malice’, treated the Poles.18 Although Pradt was no admirer of the Poles, his opinion may well contain disagreeable truths about a state whose institutions, only recently created and reliant on personnel still gaining experience, functioned in a rather improvised fashion. Perhaps the Duchy’s civil service, which a Pole raised in the tradition of a weak state might regard as strong and efficient, gave the impression of helplessness to someone accustomed to the French tradition of a centralized state, in existence since the time of Louis XIV. The problem could not be reduced, however, exclusively to different understandings of standards of modernity. Poles themselves also complained about the poor functioning of the state, especially difficulties arising from protracted administrative procedures, inadequately defined separation of powers between various branches of the civil service and judiciary, or lack of regulations controlling their functioning in a period of transition. Much criticism was voiced on this issue not only by oppositionist Godlewski, but also in the report of the deputation appointed by the king to improve the form of government.19 While recognizing the transformations to social and state structures initiated under the Duchy of Warsaw, their extent should also not be overestimated. There is no doubt that Article 4 of the constitution, as Barbara Grochulska puts it, ‘toppled the old edifice of feudalism’.20 However, the intense modernizing impulse produced by the introduction of Napoleonic legislation did not entirely break down the social structures and mentalities that had lasted for centuries. Answers far too radical for staunch conservatives, or too incomplete for advocates of change, resulted in a clash between the new constitutional solutions and actual social and political reality, thus blunting the sharp blades of the Napoleonic models. A typical example often invoked by historians was the peasant question. As historians have correctly observed, the December decree weakened the impact of Article 4 proclaiming the freedom of peasants, and even strengthened the position of landowners in relation to them by giving landowners fresh confirmation of their rights, also derived from the Napoleonic Code, to the lands they possessed. Also stemming from the principle of individual freedom, the right of peasants to leave their villages was likewise restricted due to landowners’ fear of the negative effects that total freedom of labour mobility might have on their estates. Without questioning peasants’ right to free mobility, the authorities tried to restrict it by bureaucratic means. Napoleonic legislation was a double-edged sword: it weakened the former social order in some respects, but it often gave former elites new instruments with which to consolidate their position. The peculiar coexistence in the Duchy of older and innovative mechanisms of social life confirms the continuation – clearly visible, in my opinion – of aspects of the szlachta clientele system in public life and state apparatus. They survived despite the intentions of Napoleon, who was convinced of the destructive influence of noble ‘anarchy’ on the structures of the state and its internal situation. The effect of the clientele system, which was an important instrument in launching the careers of men dreaming of social advancement as well as a means of consolidating the position of

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the powerful and influential, was evident above all in the employment and promotion policies of the army, especially during the formation of new units in 1806–7 and 1809, and in the civil service. Comparing the structural and constitutional model of the Duchy of Warsaw with the social and political realities prompted Jerzy Jedlicki to ask whether the estate-based society existing until 1806 adapted itself ‘to a law that made almost no distinctions between estates’ or whether, rather, it adapted the law to itself. This is an important question: To what extent could new legal formulations materially change society, and how much of the old noble Commonwealth lived on in the Duchy of Warsaw? The problem of the continuity or collapse of estate-defined structures and ties in this period has bothered historians for some time. The social reality of the Duchy eludes any methodical systemization based on rigid criteria. Put simply, one could say that in the 1950s and 1960s, under influence of Marxist historiography, some scholars advanced the thesis that the liquidation of barriers between social estates in 1807 was purely formal, since the szlachta, which remained the largest possessor of land, retained its dominant position in political and social life. These scholars perceived the introduction of Napoleonic legislation in the Duchy as a factor in the long-term development of capitalism in the Polish lands later in the century. In the 1970s, Jedlicki, while recognizing that appointments made by Napoleon to the highest positions in the state reinforced the existing social hierarchy, noticed however that in this period the nobility itself with its coats of arms was gradually losing significance. Opportunities for careers in the army or civil service meant that representatives of the minor szlachta and townsmen appeared more and more frequently in higher positions. This was not yet an advanced process, but it certainly indicated a narrowing of distance between the separate social groups. Such observations inclined Jedlicki to the view once expressed by Joachim Lelewel, historian and witness of those times, that the Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw preserved ‘only the colour of estates’. Later, in 2008, Jedlicki underlined the lack of clear-cut definitions relating to social divisions, that is, unambiguous conceptions of szlachta (especially following the partitions), ‘bourgeoisie’, ‘Jews’ or ‘peasants’, noting how ‘the vagueness of semantic boundaries reflects the chronic opaqueness of real social divisions, hierarchies and roles. A living society, which had already emerged from the period of social estates and been subject to constant transformation, does not consist of separate compartments above which hang information plates giving the names of species.’21 The Duchy of Warsaw begins a stage in Polish history for which, given the gradual transformation of its political system, state institutions and social structures, such a conclusion appears to be justified. The few years of its existence are too short a period for the effects of the process to be fully visible. The same applies to society. What was new coexisted alongside the remnants of former reality. This may be illustrated by a typical example from the overlap between law, political custom and mentality: in the Duchy of Warsaw the szlachta retained the right, reaching back to pre-partition times, to wear civil uniforms. Hence Lelewel’s ‘colour of estates’ was literally upheld. However, the point is that the same honorary privilege was acquired simultaneously by certain officials, including those employed in the Council of State, the courts, or elected to the Sejm – those who were not of noble origin.22

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To expect social structures, political culture and mentality that had existed for centuries to immediately submit to change under pressure from new legal norms would reflect a doctrinaire approach to reality. However, we should not undermine the significance of the changes, even if some were diluted or partially blocked. Former structures and habits modified to some extent the system Napoleon envisaged for the Duchy. The impact, however, was reciprocal. As Maciej Janowski observed, between tradition and innovation lay both tension and compromise. Tradition delayed the emergence of a new stratification of society and reconfiguration of political forces, by bending the system to suit szlachta mentality. ‘Nevertheless the direction of change had been set’: the operation of new laws and public institutions gradually altered noble mentality, habits and life style.23 The sight of an official of burgher origin wearing a civil uniform, which until then only nobles were entitled to wear, must have given pause for thought – as a clear sign of the new criteria of prestige associated with service to the state. State service at that time offered an attractive career, whichever way we interpret ‘attractive’. It was especially attractive to representatives of the minor szlachta, because employment in the civil service could protect them from social degradation caused by the weakening of the noble clientele system. It seems that in this area too, it is possible to observe interaction between tradition and change. The education or connections possessed by noble candidates applying for posts in the army, civil service or judiciary restricted access to competitors from other social groups. At the same time, however, the hypothesis that in the long term, a new kind of identity was forming among civil servants is well founded: the former client mentality was being replaced by a sense of identification with the state. Service to the state not only guaranteed a living, but it was also a source of social prestige. Maybe this was one of the reasons for the minor szlachta’s strong attachment, in future decades of the nineteenth century, to slogans of independence and the idea of restoring their own state, noticed also by the authorities in the partitioning powers? The influence of remnants of the clientele system on social change in the Duchy of Warsaw is linked to the mechanisms of Napoleonic transformation. Historian Jean Tulard claims that in Napoleonic France, the permeability of social barriers distinctly diminished after about 1805. Consolidation on various levels of the social hierarchy of groups of officials, financiers and soldiers who owed their positions to the Revolution as well as to Napoleon’s aspiration of creating stable foundations for society, such as notables and elites in the army, decreased the dynamics of social advance, thereby limiting the mobility of personnel and reducing the speed of service careers. This affected even military service, reputed earlier to be an exceptionally easy, if risky, pathway to fame, honours and riches. Spectacular promotions during the revolutionary period of officers, who in a short space of time leaped from non-commissioned officer to general, were already a thing of the past. In the army, as in the civil administration, progress was increasingly influenced by educational qualifications, often acquired in elite schools accessible primarily to young men from rich families with status, and by appropriate training for more senior levels of the service hierarchy. Attempts to stabilize the situation in France led to what Tulard describes as ‘the blocked society’ (‘la société bloquée’): ‘The conquest of Europe brought benefits only to a privileged

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layer: extra bonuses for generals, high-ranking officials or the old nobility, profits from trade for manufacturers and merchants. Beyond this circle, it was not easy to gain social advancement.’24 The reality of the Duchy of Warsaw diverged in this respect from the heart of the Napoleonic system. The extent of political and social transformation in the Polish lands never followed a similar dynamic to that in France, where the Revolution had toppled the ancien régime and created a new society. While that society was entering a phase of stabilization or, according to Tulard, stagnation after a period of violent political upheavals, the transmission from a traditional estate-based structure to modern social organization was only just beginning in the Duchy. It was characterized not by petrifaction of existing social relations, but by a decrease in distance separating particular groups and slackening of barriers between them. If in Napoleonic France the dynamics of social change had indeed been replaced by restrictions on social advance, then in the Duchy of Warsaw large-scale possibilities were only just opening up. A factor holding them back was the continuing dominant position of the szlachta, although this community, highly differentiated with regard to wealth and political influence, should not be regarded exclusively as defender of the former order. The fundamental factor influencing later assessments of the Polish Napoleonic epoch, which consisted largely of the history of the Duchy of Warsaw, was not the social or economic changes that took place in conditions created by Napoleon’s protectorate, but the political fallout. Seen from the political perspective, the balance sheet drawn up in almost every generation in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries was tipped in favour of negative judgements based largely on the calamitous expedition to Russia in 1812. Typical of this critical approach to settling accounts with the Napoleonic experience is the suggestive final scene of Andrzej Wajda’s 1965 film of Stefan Żeromski’s novel Ashes (Popioły, 1902–3). One of the heroes, half dead and blinded by the frost, fights his way across the snowy waste, while in the distance Napoleon’s sleigh heads back to France. This dismal scene, which is not in the novel, was read by many as an allegory for Poland’s destiny in the Napoleonic era and a pointed summing-up of its significance in Poland’s history. We should note, however, that despite the disappointment to their great hopes in 1812, three years later many Poles acknowledged that the balance sheet of profit and loss of the Napoleonic era closed for them rather in credit. Powerful illustrations of this are the poetical works from 1814 to 1815 associated with the mourning ceremonies surrounding Poniatowski’s death and the later (September 1814) transfer of his remains to Poland. Many indications of gratitude to Alexander I may be found in them, as well as the belief that the Kingdom of Poland, the next surrogate Polish state – following the Duchy of Warsaw – could be regarded as Poniatowski’s posthumous victory. This mood of optimism and peculiar satisfaction of poets with the outcome for Poles brought about by the end of the Napoleonic epic was to prompt the amazement and distaste years later of certain historians, literary scholars and essayists.25 These were not, however, desperate attempts to adjust the tone of poetic outpourings to the official propaganda of the new authorities. It is also difficult to regard the mood as one of cynical renunciation of recent ties with the Napoleonic option for the sake of currying favour with his conquerors. It would seem that the

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key to understanding the mood in 1815 is to re-evaluate differently the political gains achieved by the Duchy. It is my conviction that a significant proportion of Poles interested in political life and the destiny of the Polish cause recognized not the agony of the Grande Armée trudging across the Russian snows, but the military review that took place in Saint Denis in June 1814, as the symbolic closure to the Napoleonic age. The political significance of the tsar’s meeting with Napoleon’s last remaining loyal allies was clear to them: the new self-styled Agamemnon, captivated – as he put it himself – by the Poles’ determination to regain their own state and allegiance to the very end to their erstwhile protector, assumed protectorship of the Polish question. ‘Our fighters have shown that in addition to heroism, they possess political nous,’ wrote Anna Nakwaska, wife of the prefect of Warsaw, in one of her letters, thereby expressing the probable opinion of many of the Duchy’s elite.26 Alexander’s decision, albeit not taken for purely chivalric reasons, was a political success for the Poles. Despite the defeat of the French emperor, the Polish cause was in a considerably healthier position than it had been before the Grande Armée’s invasion of the Prussian Partition in 1806. The human losses suffered in the years 1806–14 as well as the financial and material costs of the Napoleonic protectorate can be seen in this context as the price Poles had to pay for engagement on Napoleon’s side, without which, however, Alexander I would never have taken up ‘the sacred and solemn commitment to work for your happiness’. For the majority of Poles interested in public affairs, including many ardent supporters of Napoleon, the Napoleonic era ended with a pragmatic compromise, which was how they regarded acceptance of the Kingdom of Poland created by the Congress of Vienna with Alexander I on its throne. True, the new state encompassed less territory than the Duchy of Warsaw but – and this is worth emphasizing – it had a liberal constitution and preserved some of Napoleon’s constitutional and legal solutions. Everyone who remembered the not too distant past, when Poles were deprived even of a surrogate for their own state, could easily imagine a worse outcome to the vicissitudes of history. After all, coalition diplomats negotiating at the Congress of Vienna had looked at alternative scenarios far less beneficial to the Poles. Many, perhaps even the majority of recent citizens of the Duchy of Warsaw, entered the post-Congress period with a sense of duty fulfilled and belief in having taken advantage, however partial, of the historical chance to restore their own state. A typical expression of the prevailing mood are the words of General Antoni Paweł Sułkowski, who, a few years before, had spun visions in letters to his wife of a glorious national future within Napoleon’s great empire, and his own fairy-tale career at his side: ‘This new Poland under the sceptre of the noble Alexander will be small and poor admittedly, but it will be Poland, it will bear the sacred name that belongs by right to our nation of 18 million, it will be a centre of ideas and action, it will be dear to us because we owe it to our own perseverance, our work and our virtues, besides it is our one true homeland. Come what may, I shall remain loyal to this most beloved Poland.’ Similar opinions may be found in the correspondence of other significant figures from contemporary public life. Hope shone through even the most subdued assessments of the new situation. Most would have subscribed to the remarks – also not devoid of optimism – of former republican Andrzej Horodyski, who stated that the Kingdom of

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Poland was indeed a peculiar ‘political purgatory’ but that within it Poles would be able to perfect their civic virtues and ability to govern, in order one day ‘to attain the praise and good opinion of foreign nations’.27 The belief prevalent at the time that the Polish cause was in a better place than it had been in September 1806 should be taken into consideration when assessing the balance sheet of the Duchy of Warsaw. Its heritage in other areas should also be remembered. In the sphere of national consciousness, the events that took place between Dąbrowski and Wybicki’s Berlin appeal and the Warsaw homagium of 1815 contributed to a consciousness that had been intensifying since the end of the eighteenth century. By the close of the Napoleonic era, the dismal view of the nation’s collapse that had preyed on Polish minds in the early post-partition years was a thing of the past. It was replaced by the conviction that the nation had survived the downfall of the state. A state structure was no longer considered an essential condition for national survival. This conviction was to prove especially important during subsequent decades of foreign rule. What form might Polish national consciousness and political mentality in the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century have taken, had it not been for the experience brought about by active involvement on Napoleon’s side in 1806–14 and, connected with this, the existence of the surrogate Polish state? In other words: What would have happened, had there been no Duchy of Warsaw? I do not intend to present alternative models of the development of the situation in the Polish lands after 1807. However, it seems indisputable that without the tradition of armed struggle and patriotic sacrifice in the years 1806–7, 1809 and 1812–14, certain aspects of Polish political mentality in the nineteenth century would not have developed, or would have affected attitudes to a lesser degree. The history of the Duchy of Warsaw provided a powerful impulse towards reinforcing in the collective consciousness, values important to the political current known later as irredentist, which made regaining an independent state the highest goal of national aspirations. Meanwhile, familiar models of patriotism and civil virtue inherited from the former Commonwealth, above all readiness to sacrifice both ‘blood and fortune’, also survived, and not only among the szlachta. It would seem that the experience of the Duchy of Warsaw also shaped the political imagination of Polish elite circles who determined, throughout the coming one hundred years, models of action for regaining political independence. A crucial aspect of these was the tendency to base independence plans on French help and after 1918, when Poland finally regained independence, to bolster the external security of the state through an alliance with France. This tendency arose not only from the realities of the European balance of power. The idea of an alliance with France was also connected with traditions and sentiments stretching back to the Duchy of Warsaw, which meant that despite the fundamental changes to the internal and foreign policies of the French state in the nineteenth century – from the July monarchy, through the Second Republic, the reign of Napoleon III, to the Third Republic – it was treated by many Poles as the natural inheritor of Napoleon’s empire. A clear illustration of this historical and political mindset was the toast raised by Józef Piłsudski on 11 October 1920 at a ceremony awarding the Polish order of Virtuti Militari to French officers: ‘Once, in rather far-off times, yet still close to our heart, a great foreign army was seen marching through the

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streets of our towns and villages. … It was understood then by the crowds watching the splendid march past that by dying for France, one was also defending Poland, by working for the expansion of France, one was safeguarding Poland’s happiness. … Poland, whose constant struggle for independence was powerfully underpinned by the memorable victory of the French army, senses always that the ties binding it to France are not just an expression of the benefits accruing from shared material interests, but are also those cordial ties that bind our hearts to a great allied nation.’28 The tradition of the Duchy of Warsaw, or rather of the Polish armed effort at that time, and the perseverance of the Poles as Napoleon’s last loyal allies must have had an impact on the attitude of French public opinion towards Polish striving for independence in the nineteenth century. We should not overestimate the influence that images of Polish– French brotherhood in arms, or of suffering Poland, both popular in nineteenthcentury iconography, had on French foreign policy. It would seem, however, that such images did shape to a certain extent the mood of French public opinion and its attitude towards Polish aspirations; they were therefore a form of political capital, which was able to play a role at the peace negotiations concluding the First World War. Belief in the sense of patriotic mobilization and preparedness to make sacrifices were part of the inheritance of the Duchy of Warsaw, and had an enormous influence on the consciousness of Poles in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The thesis that a real chance for regaining independence had been associated with the Napoleonic option was never questioned even by the most severe conservative critics of nineteenthcentury armed uprisings. One of their chief representatives, historian Józef Szujski, while confronting his countrymen with ‘a few truths about our history’ – bitter truths, let us add – wrote of Polish participation in Napoleon’s wars as follows: ‘No drop of blood shed there is lost, because the nation rescued its European significance by political means.’ Szujski also emphasized that the Duchy of Warsaw had combined ‘the ideas of the Four Years Sejm with western European progress’.29 Memory of the Duchy affected successive generations of Poles in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, so much so that – subject to the processes that transform historical reality into the stuff of legend and myth – the vision of ‘the Napoleonic state on the Vistula’ became idealized and stripped of any controversial elements. Historical figures as well as genuine or imagined episodes from the Duchy’s history penetrated the collective imagination through the medium of literature and art, of high and low quality. New cultural currents of the second half of the nineteenth or beginning of the twentieth century appear to have had little effect on the way images of Napoleon and the Duchy functioned within Polish society, although it was not ‘so unambiguously white or gold as it had been in the Romantic period’.30 Images of the collective struggle of 1806–14, constantly returning in belles-lettres, memoirs, historiography, art works or family tales, instilled a model of national unity aspiring to the highest political goals, and justifying the value of devotion and sacrifice – above all on the battlefield, but also in material terms. The history of the Duchy of Warsaw survived in the collective memory as an outburst of national feeling crowned by success, and obstructed above all by the severe winter of 1812. In independent Poland after 1918, memory of the Duchy of Warsaw also functioned as an element of the founding myth of the Second Republic, gained indeed by means

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of armed action. There was no better confirmation of the correctness of the choice made by the Napoleonic generation, or more emphatic proof of the importance of armed action in the fight to restore the Polish state. It is therefore not surprising that the cult of Napoleon and Polish heroes from the Duchy of Warsaw played an important role in propaganda and educational activities introduced in schools and the army. Interestingly, the keen disputes among historians at the beginning of the twentieth century over Napoleon’s real intentions with the Polish question, and the balance sheet of profit and loss of the Napoleonic era, did not diminish the popularity of the French imperial legend among Poles generally. This should come as no surprise since images of the Emperor of the French and his protectorate on the Vistula had become an important element of patriotic consciousness, and in many cases also of family tradition – whose continued vitality was confirmed by portraits of forebears dressed in military uniforms of the Duchy of Warsaw, or swords from the Battle of Raszyn or Leipzig adorning the drawing-room walls of manor houses and homes of intellectuals. After 1945 the influence of the Napoleonic legend on the historical consciousness of Poles was seen by the Communist authorities as an inconvenient legacy. So measures were taken to weaken it. The idea of Napoleon’s cynical policy towards the Poles, and their naive faith in help from a western ally, fitted well into Communist critique of the activities of the émigré government-in-exile in London during the Second World War. This did not mean, however, any questioning of the courage and self-sacrifice of Poles ‘duped’ by Napoleon. The Polish soldier fought gallantly, the politicians erred in their naivety and short-sightedness; in Communist Poland, this reappraisal was meant to prompt associations desired by the authorities with the political situation during the Second World War. The effectiveness of such attempts, like many propagandist undertakings of the time, was not great. Belief in the value of heroism and self-sacrifice, deeply rooted for generations in Polish historical consciousness, and the model of patriotism connected with it, were seriously questioned only towards the end of the 1950s during stormy debates about the point of national uprisings in the nineteenth century. The old dispute was thereby revived between advocates of armed uprisings and their conservative critics, or journalists stressing the superior value of consistent work on economic development and education over armed struggle. These disagreements acquired an extra dimension, however, due to the experiences of the Second World War, and especially the terrible losses suffered by Poles during the 1944 Warsaw Uprising. Another new aspect was the defiance of young protestors – artists and journalists critically disposed to what they believed to be the detrimental cult of heroism, portrayed as readiness to senselessly squander life in circumstances where there was no chance of victory. The apogee of this debate was the premiere of Andrzej Wajda’s film Ashes, in which the director sharply questioned the point of the sacrifices suffered by Poles during the Napoleonic period as well as the moral price of serving a foreign protector. The debate about Napoleon and the Duchy of Warsaw thus became, in the deliberations of its animators, a kind of confession of the national sin of political recklessness. The overheated debate about seemingly distant events may be explained by the fact that in reality they did not relate simply to Napoleon and nineteenth-century struggles for independence. In the Communist state, where there was no political freedom or

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freedom of speech, discussion about the distant past crucially referred – in thinly disguised fashion – to issues of Polish history in the twentieth century. In this situation, defenders of the Napoleonic legend were driven by their belief that they stood not only on the side of their forebears who had supported Napoleon, but also – and this was something that could not be expressed openly – on the side of the whole tradition of Polish cultural and political ties with Western Europe, from which it was separated since 1945 by the Iron Curtain. After a few years, this burning debate died down. A surprising side effect was the distinct growth in interest among the reading public in the Napoleonic era, evidence being the popularity of memoirs and essays on the period published in the 1970s.31 It seems that irrespective of the debates conducted among historians and publicists, popular notions about the Duchy of Warsaw underwent no fundamental revision for decades. They were dominated by associations with colourful uniforms and sacrifices of military life (whether or not they were pointless or made sense – on this question too, it is hard to find unanimity). They also influenced the interests of historians, who concentrated primarily on military issues and the significance of the Polish question in the policies of the great powers. Reflection on changes to national consciousness, on the history of the political system, its constitution and institutions, or the dynamics of social and economic change, although present in the studies conducted at the beginning of the twentieth century by Marceli Handelsman and others, did not generally occupy historians until the second half of the century. Heroism and self-sacrifice still appear to dominate popular notions of the Duchy of Warsaw today. Such reception is no doubt cemented by the activities of re-enactment societies, which reconstruct Napoleonic battles, contemporary uniforms and weaponry, attracting considerable public interest. To the historical re-enactor or spectator, the embodiment of the Duchy of Warsaw continues to be Prince Józef leading the attack on the Raszyn causeway, not a prefect examining candidates for the civil service or a nobleman inspecting his recently built distillery. Perhaps, however, it is precisely in this way that the Napoleonic legend affects the collective imagination most powerfully – stirring the need for adventure slumbering within us, appealing to notions of the bloody yet theatrical beauty of the Napoleonic wars. At the same time, however, the period of the Duchy of Warsaw may surely be regarded as the beginning of modernity in Poland, marked by the decline of the estatebased society that had lasted for centuries, the appearance of a modern state apparatus and professional bureaucracy, upheavals in the ownership of land, the collapse of old and birth of new fortunes. Research conducted in recent decades supplements this picture with questions concerning the paradoxes of modernization or political and social transformation, not so far removed from our present-day experience. In the history of the Duchy of Warsaw, new collides with old. The years 1806–15 may be regarded as a period of transition, and in this respect not unlike our own times. As to the place of the Polish question in European politics, the Duchy’s final balance sheet, despite the great losses incurred in financial and human terms, closes in credit: in 1815, the Congress of Vienna, led by the great European powers, recognized that Poles were entitled to their own state or at least – under foreign governments – to their own national institutions. This change in approach towards Polish national aspirations

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also came about because of the attitude of Poles themselves. As Barbara Grochulska has observed, the period of the Duchy of Warsaw, ‘a tiny state, embroiled in the history of the greatest hurricane that had so far shaken modern Europe, left as its legacy an image of other Poles conscious of their potential, condemned not to disaster but to victory, of Polish citizens in their own state. Of Poles, who had grown up’. The Duchy’s history might also be a lesson in making the most of historical opportunities.

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Notes Prologue 1 Jędrzej Kitowicz, Pamiętniki, czyli Historia polska (Warsaw, 1971), pp. 646–52; Gazeta Warszawska 55 (1796), p. 617 and 56 (1796), pp. 627–9. 2 Given the flaws in contemporary statistics, these figures should be treated as estimates. 3 On the history of the Commonwealth in the eighteenth century and the reign of Stanisław August, see: Richard Butterwick, The Polish Revolution and the Catholic Church, 1788-1792: A Political History (Oxford, 2012); Józef Andrzej Gierowski, The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the XVIIIth Century: From Anarchy to Well-organised State (Kraków, 1996); Jerzy Lukowski, Disorderly Liberty: The Political Culture of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Eighteenth Century (London, 2010). 4 On the administrative structures of the Prussian Partition, see: Historia państwa i prawa Polski, vol. 3: Od rozbiorów do uwłaszczenia, edited by Juliusz Bardach and Monika Senkowska-Gluck (Warsaw, 1981), p. 31. 5 Jan Wąsicki, Ziemie polskie pod zaborem pruskim. Prusy Południowe 1793–1806 (Wrocław, 1957), pp. 224–9. 6 Wąsicki, Ziemie polskie, pp. 108, 327–8; Władysław Smoleński, Rządy pruskie na ziemiach polskich (1793–1807), in idem, Pisma historyczne (Kraków, 1901), vol. 3, pp. 202–3; Jarosław Czubaty, Warszawa 1806–1815. Miasto i ludzie (Warsaw, 1997), pp. 13–14. 7 Wąsicki, Ziemie polskie, pp. 292–4. 8 Jarosław Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’. Normy postępowania i granice kompromisu politycznego Polaków w sytuacjach wyboru (1795–1815) (Warsaw, 2005), pp. 105–14. 9 Aleksander Kraushar, Towarzystwo Warszawskie Przyjaciół Nauk 1800–1832. Monografia historyczna osnuta na źródłach archiwalnych (Kraków and Warsaw), 1900, vol. 1, pp. 52–3; George Burnett, Obraz obecnego stanu Polski, translated by Marek Urbański (Warsaw, 2008), pp. 182–3. 10 On the history of the emigration, the Polish legions and conspiracy at home, see: Szymon Askenazy, Napoleon a Polska (Warsaw, 1994); Marian Kukiel, Próby powstańcze po trzecim rozbiorze (Kraków and Warsaw, 1912); Jan Pachoński, Legiony Polskie 1794–1807. Prawda i legenda (Warsaw, 1969–79), 4 vols. 11 Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 255–64. 12 Wąsicki, Ziemie polski, p. 182 ff. 13 Jan Kosim, Pod pruskim zaborem. Warszawa w latach 1796–1806 (Warsaw, 1980), pp. 48–9, 52; Smoleński, Rządy pruskie, pp. 193–5. 14 Smoleński, Rządy pruskie, pp. 173–8, 181, 184, 210. 15 Antoni Magier, Estetyka miasta stołecznego Warszawy (Wrocław, 1963), pp. 148–50, 157; Kosim, Pod pruskim zaborem, pp. 96–103; Smoleński, Rządy pruskie, pp. 212, 222. 16 Kosim, Pod pruskim zaborem, p. 122.

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17 Smoleński, Rządy pruskie, pp. 216–18. 18 See Jerzy Skowronek, Adam Jerzy Czartoryski (1770–1861) (Warsaw, 1994), pp. 104–12. 19 Kitowicz, Pamiętniki, pp. 646–7.

Chapter 1 1 Dezydery Chłapowski, Pamiętniki, vol. 1: Wojny napoleońskie 1806-1813 (Poznań, 1899), p. 3. 2 Maciej Loret, Między Jeną i Tylżą (1806-1807) (Warsaw, 1902), pp. 22–6; Tadeusz Mencel, Feliks Łubieński. Minister sprawiedliwości Księstwa Warszawskiego (1758-1848) (Warsaw, 1952), p. 46. 3 See Emanuel Halicz, ‘Opinie francuskie o Polsce (w świetle współczesnych dokumentów dyplomatycznych, literatury politycznej i prasy)’, in idem, Geneza Księstwa Warszawskiego (Warsaw, 1962). 4 Archiwum Wybickiego (Gdańsk, 1950), ed. Adam Mieczysław Skałkowski, pp. 30–2. 5 Correspondance de Napoléon Ier (Paris, 1863), vol. 14, no. 11349, p. 10. 6 See Loret, Między Jeną i Tylżą; Halicz, Geneza Księstwa Warszawskiego; Jerzy Skowronek, ‘Sprawa polska’, in Europa i świat w epoce napoleońskiej. ed. Monika Senkowska-Gluck (Warsaw, 1977). 7 Kościuszko’s stance in 1807 is discussed by Emil Kipa, ‘Decyzja Kościuszki’, in idem, Studia i szkice historyczne (Warsaw, 1959). 8 Archiwum Wybickiego, vol. 2, pp. 34–5. 9 Józef Wybicki, Życie moje (Wrocław, 2005), pp. 318–19. 10 Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych (hereafter AGAD), Teki Dąbrowskiego [Dąbrowski Archive], vol. 10, file 2, pp. 60–1. 11 Jarosław Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie (1807-1815) (Warsaw, 2011), pp. 73–7. 12 Jerzy Skowronek, Książę Józef Poniatowski (Warsaw, 1984), pp. 113–14. 13 Juliusz Falkowski, Obrazy z życia kilka ostatnich pokoleń (Poznań, 1877), vol. 1, pp. 260, 264–5; Jean Tulard, Murat (Gdańsk, 2002), pp. 111–13. 14 Barbara Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie (Warsaw, 1966), pp. 35–6, 42; Magier, Estetyka miasta, pp. 166–9; Anna Potocka-Wąsowiczowa, Wspomnienia naocznego świadka (Warsaw, 1965), pp. 84–5. 15 Napoleon to Murat, Poznań, 2 XII 1806, Correspondance de Napoléon, vol. 14, nr 11350, p. 11. 16 Tulard, Murat, pp. 112–13. 17 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 83–9; Władysław Zajewski, Józef Wybicki (Warsaw, 1983), pp. 187–9. 18 See Radzimiński’s appeal and Dąbrowski’s appeal to the clergy: Archiwum Wybickiego, vol. 2, pp. 58, 63–4. 19 Skowronek, Książę Józef Poniatowski, pp. 115, 117; Józef Zajączek to Napoleon, before 25 December 1806, Z korespondencji gen. Zajączka 1806, 1807, 1811 i 1812, in: Skałkowski, O cześć imienia polskiego (Lwów and Warsaw, 1908), pp. 341–5; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 304–7. 20 Archiwum Wybickiego, vol. 2, pp. 72–4; Fryderyk Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego (Warsaw, [1897]), vol. 1, pp. 122–4; Wirydianna Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne i osób postronnych (London, 1975), p. 291; Wybicki, Życie moje, pp. 328–9; Potocka, Wspomnienia, pp. 89–90; Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 37.

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21 Marian Kukiel, Wojny napoleońskie (Warsaw, 1927), pp. 146–52; Andrzej Nieuważny, 200 dni Napoleona 1806-1807. Od Pułtuska do Tylży (Warsaw, 2008), pp. 32–67; idem, Napoleon na Mazowszu. Bitwy pod Pułtuskiem i Gołyminem 1806-1807 (Pułtusk, 2007), p. 18 ff. 22 Józef Szymanowski, Pamiętniki (Lwów, 1898), p. 29; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 96–9; Maurice de Tascher, Journal de campagne d’un cousin de l’impératrice (1806-1813) (Paris, 1933), p. 47. 23 Jean-Roch Coignet, Les cahiers du capitaine Coignet (Paris, 1968), p. 132; account by Jakub Kierzkowski in Dał nam przykład Bonaparte … Wspomnienia i relacje żołnierzy 1797-1815, ed. Robert Bielecki and Andrzej Tyszka (Kraków, 1984), vol. 1, pp. 152–3. 24 On Napoleon’s second stay in Warsaw and his romance with Marie Walewska, see for example: Potocka, Wspomnienia, pp. 97–9, 101, 104–6; Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, pp. 300–1; Marian Brandys, Kłopoty z panią Walewską (Kraków, 1995). 25 For an extensive bibliography of sources and research papers on the activities of the Ruling Commission, see Jacek Goclon, Polska na królu pruskim zdobyta. Ustrój, administracja i sądownictwo doby Komisji Rządzącej w 1807 roku (Wrocław, 2002). 26 Kipa, Z pobytu Napoleona w r. 1806, in idem, Studia i szkice historyczne (Wrocław, 1959), pp. 68–9. 27 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 106–7. 28 Smoleński, Rządy pruskie, pp. 221–2; Archiwum Wybickiego, vol. 2, 79–80. Prussia was Poland’s vassal in 1525–1657. 29 Halicz, Geneza Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 29–45; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 398–400, 416–18; Dariusz Nawrot, Litwa i Napoleon w 1812 r. (Katowice, 2008), p. 19 ff. 30 Marceli Handelsman, Nastroje społeczeństwa w roku 1807, in idem, Pomiędzy Prusami i Rosją (Warsaw, 1922), pp. 9–11, 13–18; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, 113–15; Amilkar Kosiński to Dąbrowski, Toruń, 20 December 1806, AGAD, Teki Dąbrowskiego, vol. 10, file 3a, p. 321; Wincenty Aksamitowski to Dąbrowski, Poznań, 21 December 1806, ibidem, p. 334; Franciszek Gajewski, Pamiętniki pułkownika wojsk polskich (1802-1831) (Poznań, [1913]), pp. 8, 40, 65; Ignacy Lubowiecki, Pamiętniki (Lublin, 1997), pp. 53–4. 31 Pachoński, General Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, pp. 396, 398, 402–3, 419; Bronisław Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie. Księstwo Warszawskie 1807-1814 (Warsaw, 1905), pp. 2–3, 58–60, 115–16, 177–8, 293–7; Marian Kukiel, Dzieje oręża polskiego w epoce napoleońskiej (Poznań, 1912), p. 130; Janusz Straszewski, Kaliski wysiłek zbrojny 1806-1813 (Kalisz, 1931), p. 17; AGAD, Teki Dąbrowskiego, vol. 10, file 3a, p. 136 ff. 32 Józef Lipski to Dąbrowski, Sieradz, 22 December 1806, AGAD, Teki Dąbrowskiego, vol. 10, file 3a, p. 343. 33 Stanisław Fiszer to Amilkar Kosiński, Kalisz, 18 January 1807, Z papierów kancelaryi polowej generała Kosińskiego, in Adam Mieczysław Skałkowski, O cześć imienia polskiego (Lwów and Warsaw, 1908), pp. 143–4. 34 General Kruszyński to Amilkar Kościński, Świecie, 19 January 1807, in ibidem, p. 137. 35 Antoni Białkowski, Wspomnienia starego żołnierza, (Gdynia, 2003), p. 12; Chłapowski, Pamiętniki, vol. 1, pp. 2–3. 36 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 118–20. 37 Czubaty, Wodzowie i politycy. Generalicja polska 1806-1815 (Warsaw, 1993), pp. 51–3. 38 Pachoński, Generał Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, pp. 428–33; Białkowski, Wspomnienia, pp. 17–19.

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39 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 125–6. 40 Robert Bielecki, Wojsko polskie 1806-1807, in idem, Encyklopedia wojen napoleońskich (Warsaw, 2001), p. 604; Report of the Department of War, Warsaw 27 November 1807, in Korespondencja ks. Józefa Poniatowskiego z Francją, ed. Adam Mieczysław Skałkowski (Poznań, 1921), vol. 1, p. 93. 41 Józef Zajączek to Józef Wybicki, Niedenburg, 27 April and 1 May 1807, in Archiwum Wybickiego, vol. 2, p. 172; Tadeusz Srogosz, Pomoc weteranom, rannym i chorym na ziemiach polskich w latach 1806-1807 (Częstochowa, 2001), p. 49; Leon Sułek, Dezercja z wojsk Księstwa Warszawskiego (lata 1807–1813), ‘Kwartalnik Historyczny’ 1988, vol. 95, no. 3, pp. 177, 189. 42 Pachoński, Generał Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, pp. 444–6. 43 Dariusz Nawrot, Litwa i Napoleon w 1812 roku (Katowice, 2008), p. 30 ff. 44 Loret, Między Jeną a Tylżą, pp. 67, 69 ff., 78–82, 89; Halicz, Geneza Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 169–71, 197; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 131–5. 45 Nikolai Mikhailovich [Romanov], Imperator Aleksandr I (Moscow, 1999), pp. 65–6; Vladimir Fiodorov, Aleksander I, in Dynastia Romanowów (Warsaw, 1993), p. 302; Halicz, Geneza Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 188, 193–4.

Chapter 2 1 Bartłomiej Szyndler, Stanisław Małachowski (Warsaw, 1979), pp. 290–1. 2 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 80. According to Marian Kallas, Organy administracji terytorialnej w Księstwie Warszawskim (Toruń, 1975), p. 13, the territory of the Duchy consisted of 102,747 square kilometres. 3 Barbara Grochulska, ‘Lewica wobec Napoleona w świetle “Korrespondencji w materiach obraz kraju i narodu rozjaśniających”,’ in Francja – Polska XVIII-XIX w. Studia z dziejów kultury i polityki poświęcone Profesorowi Andrzejowi Zahorskiemu w sześćdziesiątą rocznicę urodzin, ed. Antoni Mączak (Warsaw, 1983), pp. 62–9. 4 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 139–40; Wybicki, Życie moje, pp. 350–3. 5 Marian Kallas, Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego, jej powstanie, systematyka i główne instytucje w związku z normami szczegółowymi i praktyką (Toruń, 1970), p. 32 ff; Materiały do dziejów Komisji Rządzącej z r. 1807, vol. 1: Dziennik czynności Komisji Rządzącej, ed. Michał Rostworowski (Kraków, 1918), p. 308; Marceli Handelsman, ‘Z dziejów Księstwa Warszawskiego. Geneza Księstwa i jego statutu’, in idem, Studia historyczne (Warsaw, 1911), vol. 1, pp. 181–3; Edmund Machalski, Ludwik Gutakowski. Prezes Rady Stanu i Ministrów (Dubno, 1938), p. 38. 6 Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego in Dziennik Praw Księstwa Warszawskiego (Warsaw, 1810), vol. 1, 1, pp. I–XLVII. I follow the description of the constitution, its structure and institutions given by Władysław Sobociński, ‘Historia ustroju i prawa Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Roczniki Towarzystwa Naukowego w Toruniu (1964) 70 (1), and Kallas, Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego. 7 Wybicki, Życie moje, pp. 351–2. 8 Kallas, Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 193–4. 9 Quoted in Handelsman, Z dziejów Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 193–4. 10 Ibid., pp. 185–6; Sobociński, ‘Historia ustroju i prawa’, p. 65. 11 Maciej Janowski, Polska myśl liberalna do 1918 r. (Kraków, 1998), pp. 13, 32–4. 12 Protokoły Rady Stanu Księstwa Warszawskiego, ed. Bronisław Pawłowski (Toruń, 1960), vol. 1, part 1, pp. 111–12.

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13 Kallas, Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego, p. 118. 14 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 83.

Chapter 3 1 L. Davout to L.-A. Berthier, Toruń, 1 August 1807, in Correspondance du maréchal Davout 1801-1815, ed. Ch. De Mazade (Paris, 1885), p. 8: reports of Étienne Vincent, Warsaw, 22 and 25 July and 10 August 1807, in Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich w Warszawie 1807-1813, ed. Marceli Handelsman (Kraków, 1914), vol. 1, pp. 2–5, 12–13; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 150–2. 2 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 153. 3 Vincent’s reports of 29 July and 31 July 1807, in Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 1, pp. 5, 7, 9; Davout to Napoleon, Skierniewice, 15 August 1807, in Correspondance du maréchal Davout, vol. 2, p. 22. 4 Wybicki, Życie moje, p. 351. 5 Juliusz Willaume, Fryderyk August jako książę warszawski (1807-1815) (Poznań, 1939), pp. 23–7, 35–9, 50, 67–9. 6 Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego (1807-1809), ed. Aleksander Krauser (Warsaw, 1902), p. 6. 7 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 158–9; Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 5–6. 8 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 94–8; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 159–62. 9 Willaume, Fryderyk August, p. 78; Kallas, Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego, p. 33; Sobociński, Historia ustroju i prawa, p. 67. 10 Willaume, Fryderyk August, pp. 99–100. 11 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 90–1; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 164–5. 12 Kallas, Organy adminstracji terytoralnej, pp. 18–19; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 165–7. 13 Kallas, Organy adminstracji terytoralnej, pp. 26–7; Janowski, Polska myśl liberalna do 1918 r., pp. 35, 44; Paweł Cichoń, Rozwój myśli administracyjnej w Księstwie Warszawskim 1807-1815 (Kraków, 2006), p. 167ff. 14 Kallas, Organy adminstracji terytoralnej, pp. 43–4; Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 108–9; Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, p. 74. 15 Katarzyna Sójka-Zielińska, Kodeks Napoleona. Historia i współczesność (Warsaw, 2008), pp. 195–6. 16 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 169–74; Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 100–1. 17 Hugo Kołłątaj, Uwagi nad teraźniejszym położeniem tej części ziemi polskiej, którą od pokoju tylżyckiego zaczęto zwać Księstwem Warszawskim (Leipzig, 1808), pp. 147–8, 180–3, 204–5; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 174–7. 18 Kołłątaj, Uwagi nad teraźniejszym położeniem tej części ziemi polskiej, pp. 99, 134–5, 143–4. 19 Pachoński, General Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, pp. 455, 460–1; J. Poniatowski to L. Davout, Warsaw, 9 August 1807, in: Correspondance du maréchal Davout, vol. 2, pp. 14–15; L. Davout to Napoleon, Skierniewice, 15 August 1807, in: ibidem, pp. 24–5; Szymon Askenazy, Książę Józef (Warsaw, 1913), pp. 145–6, 157–60.

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20 Willaume, Fryderyk August, pp. 65, 98; L. Davout to Napoleon, Warsaw, 26 August 1808, in: Correspondance du maréchal Davout, vol. 2, pp. 269–70; Marceli Handelsman, Rezydenci napoleońscy w Warszawie 1807-1813 (Kraków, 1915), pp. 6 ff., 47 ff. On the resident’s responsibilities, see the instructions to Serra, 30 September 1807, in: Handelsman, Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 1, pp. 50–4; Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 17, 79; Zajewski, Józef Wybicki, pp. 207–8; Askenazy, Książę Józef, p. 169. 21 Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 74–8, 98–9; Decree of Frederick Augustus, 9 June 1808, in Ustawodawstwo Księstwa Warszawskiego, ed. Wojciech Bartel, Jan Kosim and Władysław Rostocki (Warsaw, 1964), vol. 1, pp. 114–15; Adam Owczarski, Redemptoryści benonici w Warszawie 17871808 (Kraków, 2000), pp. 223–4; Grochula, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 103–4; Szymanowski, Pamiętniki, pp. 43–4; Protokoly Rady Stanu (Toruń, 1962), vol. 1, part 1, p. 215; ibidem, vol. 1, part 2, p. 141. 22 Decrees of Frederick Augustus of 30 October 1807 and 21 July 1808, in Ustawodawstwo Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 1, pp. 10–11, 134. See also: Monika Senkowska-Gluck, Donacje napoleońskie w Księstwie Warszawskim. Studium historyczno-prawne (Wrocław, 1968). 23 Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, pp. 57, 83–4, 88 ff., 95–8; Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 49, 51 ff., 95, 97, 120; Protokoły Rady Stanu, vol. 1, pp. 1, 180–1. Several Polish historians have addressed the problem of the Bayonne sums, see Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 192. 24 Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie, pp. 65–70; Antoni Paweł Sułkowski, Listy do żony z wojen napoleońskich, ed. Robert Bielecki (Warsaw, 1987), p. 213; Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 126–7; Elżbieta Wichrowska, Kantorbery Tymowski w świetle nowych źródeł (Warsaw, 2002), pp. 46–7. 25 Marian Kallas, Sejmy na Zamku w czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego (1809, 1811, 1812) (Warsaw, 1987), pp. 35–9, 52–4; Niemcewicz, Pamiętnik o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 195–6; idem, Pamiętniki 1809-1820, ed. Jan Konstanty Żupański (Poznań, 1871), vol. 1, pp. 5–11; Marceli Handelsman, Sejm roku 1809 w oświetleniu urzędowym francuskim, in idem, Studia historyczne, part 1, pp. 265–7.

Chapter 4 1 Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, p. 321; Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 153–6; Emil Kipa, Austria a sprawa polska w 1809 r. (Warsaw, 1952), pp. 16–30, 37–42; Bronisław Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka (Warsaw, 1999), pp. 75 ff., 90 ff., 113ff. Much interesting information is contained in Roman Sołtyk, Relation des operations de l’armée aux orders du Prince Joseph Poniatowski pendant la campagne de 1809 en Pologne contre les Autrichiens (Paris, 1841), and in the source materials included in Władysław Fedorowicz, 1809. Campagne en Pologne. Depuis le commencement jusqu’à l’occupation de Varsovie (Paris, 1911). 2 Pawłowski, Wojna polska-austriacka, p. 135 ff; for memoir accounts of the battle, see: Dał nam przykład …, vol. 1, pp. 293–301. See also Romuald Romański, Raszyn 1809 (Warsaw, 1997). 3 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 205 ff.; Kazimierz Krzos, Z księciem Józefem w Galicji w 1809 r. Rząd Centralny Obojga Galicji (Warsaw, 1967), pp. 256–8; Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 181–2.

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4 Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 158–9; Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, pp. 339–41. 5 Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, pp. 178–86. 6 Krzos, Z księciem Józefem, p. 70; Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, p. 241 ff. On the mood in Galicia, see Tadeusz Mencel, Galicja Zachodnia 1795-1809 (Lublin, 1976). 7 For accounts on the storming of Sandomierz and Zamość, see Dał nam przykład …, vol. 1, p. 313 ff. Information on Sokolnicki’s operations in the 1809 campaign may be found in Dziennik historyczny i korespondencja polowa generała Michała Sokolnickiego, ed. B. Pawłowski (Kraków, 1932). 8 Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, p. 244. 9 Ibid., p. 265 ff; Karolina Nakwaska, Pamiętnik o Adamie hr. Potockim, pułkowniku 11 pułku jazdy Księstwa Warszawskiego (Kraków, 1862), p. 29; Marcin Smarzewski, Pamiętnik 1809-1831 (Wrocław, 1962), p. 6. See also Bronisław Pawłowski, Lwów w 1809 (Lwów, 1909). 10 Kajetan Koźmian, Pamiętniki (Wrocław, 1972), vol. 2, pp. 15–16. 11 Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 372–3. 12 Krzos, Z księciem Józefem, pp. 64–6, 80, 114; Koźmian, Pamiętniki, vol. 2, pp. 16–18, 22–3; Eustachy Sanguszko, Pamiętnik (1786-1815) (Oświęcim, 2009), pp. 53–4. 13 Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, p. 345 ff. 14 Poniatowski to Napoleon, Kraków, 15 July 1809, Korespondencja ks. Józefa, vol. 2, pp. 222–3. 15 Askenazy, Książę Józef, pp. lviii–lix, 212; Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, p. 435. 16 Krzos, Z księciem Józefem, pp. 243–6. 17 Sanguszko, Pamiętnik, p. 56; Askenazy, Książę Józef, pp. 223–4. 18 Kipa, Austria a sprawa polska w 1809 r., pp. 38, 45–7, 56. 19 Koźmian, Pamiętniki, vol. 2, p. 77; Krzos, Z księciem Józefem, p. 251 ff. 20 Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, p. 280 ff.; Krzos, Z księciem Józefem, p. 253. 21 Aleksander Fredro, Trzy po trzy (Warsaw, 1957), pp. 126–7. 22 Ludwik Osiński, Wiersz na powrót zwycięskiego wojska do stolicy, in Ulotna poezja patriotyczna wojen napoleońskich (1805-1814) (Wrocław, 1977), no. 8; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 233–4.

Chapter 5 1 Basic information on the composition of the army as well as further reading may be found in: Jarosław Czubaty, ‘The Army of the Duchy of Warsaw’, in Armies of the Napoleonic Wars, ed. Gregory Fremont-Barnes (Barnsley, 2011), pp. 230–43. 2 Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie, pp. 74, 122: Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 242–3; Ewa Ziołek, Między tronem i ołtarzem. Kościół i państwo w Księstwie Warszawskim (Lublin, 2010), pp. 393–7. 3 Robert Bielecki, ‘L’Effort militaire Polonais 1806-1815’, Revue de l’Institut Napoléon, 1976, vol. 132, pp. 163–4. See also a commentary on the 1813 conscription process in Mariusz Łukasiewicz, Armia księcia Józefa 1813 (Warsaw, 1986), p. 57 ff. 4 Jan Ziółek, ‘Wysiłek mobilizacyjny społeczeństwa polskiego w latach 1830–1831’, in Powstanie listopadowe 1830–1831. Dzieje wewnętrzne, militaria, Europa wobec powstania, ed. Władysław Zajewski (Warsaw, 1990), pp. 362–3, 365, 371; Natalie Petiteau, ‘Survivors of War: French Soldiers and Veterans of the Napoleonic Armies’, in Soldiers, Citizens and Civilians: Experiences and Perceptions of the Revolutionary

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16

17 18

Notes and Napoleonic Wars 1790–1820, ed. Alan Forrest, Karen Hagemann and Jane Rendall (London, 2009), p. 45; Harold D. Blanton, ‘Conscription in France during the Era of Napoleon’, in Conscription in the Napoleonic Era: A Revolution in Military Affairs?, ed. Donald Stoker, Frederick C. Schneid and Harold D. Blanton (London and New York, 2009), p. 19; Michael F. Pavkovič, ‘Recruitment and Conscription in the Kingdom of Westphalia: “The Palladium of Westphalian Freedom”’, in ibid., p. 145; Alexander Grab, ‘Conscription and Desertion in Napoleonic Italy, 1802– 1814’, ibid., pp. 122–3; Dierk Walter, ‘Meeting the French Challenge: Conscription in Prussia, 1807–1815’, ibid., p. 38; Michael Rowe, ‘Napoleon and State Formation in Central Europe’, in Napoleon and Europe, ed. Philip G. Dwyer (London, 2001), p. 221; Marian Kukiel, Wojna 1812 r., vol. 1 (Kraków 1937), p. 163; Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie, p. 259. Józef Krasiński, Ze wspomnień, ‘Biblioteka Warszawska’ 1912, vol. 2, pp. 429–30. Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 246–7. Białkowski, Wspomnienia starego żółnierza, pp. 46–8, 144–5; Michał Baczkowski, Wojsko polskie w napoleońskim Krakowie (Kraków, 2009), pp. 36–7. Eduard Bignon, Polska w 1811 i 1813 r. Wspomnienia dyplomaty, vol. 1 (Wilno, 1921), p. 41; Fredro, Trzy po trzy, pp. 140, 144; Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie, pp. 170–1, 173. For detailed descriptions of the colour and design of uniforms, see Bronisław Gembarzewski, Żołnierz polski, ubiór, uzbrojenie i oporządzenie, vol. 3: Od 1797 do 1814 r. (Warsaw, 1964). Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie, pp. 90, 94, 96, 170. Baczkowski, Wojsko polskie w napoleońskim Krakowie, pp. 115–16; Białkowski, Wspomnienia starego żółnierza, pp. 47–8; ‘Aperçu sur l’état présent du Duché de Varsovie’, in Skałkowski, O cześć imienia, pp. 316–17; Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 188–90, 201–2. Napoleon to Lefebvre, Ostróda, 24 March 1807, in Correspondance de Napoléon 1er, vol. 14, no. 12150, p. 516; Napoleon to R. Savary, Ostróda, 29 March 1807, in ibid., no. 12212, p. 566; Aleksander Rembowski (ed.), Spadek piśmienniczy po generale Maurycym Hauke (Warsaw, 1905), p. xvi. Poniatowski to Frederick Augustus, Warsaw, 1 January 1812, in Korespondencja księcia Józefa z Francją, vol. 4, p. 284. Gembarzewski, Wojsko polskie, pp. 73, 75, 122–4, 184, 203; 273–4; Franciszek Gajewski, Pamiętniki, vol. 1, p. 183; Czubaty, Wodzowie i politycy, pp. 48, 227–32. See Czubaty, Wodzowie i politycy, p. 151 ff. See descriptions of officers’ careers in the 3rd and 4th cavalry regiments of the Duchy which may be considered representative of other cavalry regiments in Janusz Albrecht, Z dziejów jazdy Księstwa Warszawskiego. Przyczynek historycznoorganizacyjny do lat 1806-1808 (Warsaw, 1922), p. 63; Wacław Tokarz, ‘Ks. Józef jako wychowawca wojska’, in idem, Rozprawy i szkice (Warsaw, 1959),, vol. 2, pp. 295–6; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 524–8; Marek Tarczyński, Generalicja powstania listopadowego (Warsaw, 1980), pp. 318–20. Poniatowski to Frederick Augustus, Warsaw 17 December 1810 and 18 March 1811, in Korespondencja księcia Józefa z Francją, vol. 3, pp. 125–6, 186–7; Bignon, Polska w 1811 i 1813 r., vol. 1, pp. 96–7. Henryk Dembiński, Pamiętnik (Warsaw: [date of publication unknown]), vol. 1, p. 81; Fredro, Trzy po trzy, p. 145. Pachoński, Legiony polskie, vol. 4, p. 637; Michał Karpowicz, ‘Za gwiazdą cesarza. 1. Pułk Szwoleżerów Gwardii Napoleona I (1807-1815)’, in Elita jazdy polskiej, ed. Michał Karpowicz and Mirosław Filipiak (Warsaw, 1995), p. 38.

Notes

227

19 Tarczyński, Generalicja, pp. 251 ff., 276, 280; Czubaty, Wodzowie i politycy, pp. 23–4, 30–2. 20 Jarosław Czubaty, ‘Glory, Honour and Patriotism; Military Careers in the Duchy of Warsaw, 1806-1815’, in Soldiers, Citizens and Civilians: Experiences and Perceptions of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars 1790–1820, ed. Alan Forrest, Karen Hagemann and Jane Rendall (London, 2009), pp. 67–70. 21 Fredro, Trzy po trzy, pp. 133, 139; Kazimierz Brodziński, Wspomnienia mojej młodości (Kraków, 1928), p. 57. 22 Pachoński, Legiony Polskie, vol. 4, p. 637; Maciej Rybiński, Moje wspomnienia od urodzenia (Wrocław, 1993), p. 73; Pawłowski, Wojna polsko-austriacka, p. 242. 23 Kukiel, Wojna 1812 roku, vol. 1, p. 163; Fredro, Trzy po trzy, p. 148; deputation report of 19 January 1811, Biblioteka Polskiej Akademii Nauk Kraków (Library of the Polish Academy of Sciences, Kraków), manuscript 139, p. 151. 24 Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 145–6; Jan Pachoński, General Jan Henryk Dąbrowski (Warsaw, 1981), pp. 434–5; Białkowski, Wspomnienia starego żołnierza, pp. 113–14; Tokarz, Książę Józef jako wychowawca, pp. 311–12; Leon Sułek, ‘Dezercja z wojsk Księstwa Warszawskiego (lata 1807-1813)’, Kwartalnik Historyczny 1988, vol. 95(3), pp. 185–6. 25 Blanton, Conscription in France, p. 17; Pavković, Recruitment and Conscription, pp. 142–3; Grab, Conscription and Desertion, p. 126. 26 Sułek, Dezercja z wojsk, pp. 173, 177, 180, 188–90; Skowronek, Książę Józef, p. 192. 27 Alan Forrest, Napoleon’s Men: The Soldiers of the Revolution and Empire (London and New York, 2002), pp. 105–6. 28 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 272–3. 29 Leon Sułek, ‘Wojskowy kodeks karny w armii Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Studia i materiały do historii wojskowości, vol. 25, 1982, p. 192. 30 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 273. 31 Baczkowski, Wojsko polskie w napoleońskim Krakowie, pp. 81, 118. 32 Sanguszko, Pamiętnik, p. 55; Fredro, Trzy po trzy, p. 150. 33 Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, p. 342; Koźmian, Pamiętniki, vol. 2, pp. 46–7; Fredro, Trzy po trzy, p. 152. 34 Tokarz, Ks. Józef jako wychowawca wojska, pp. 301–2; Klemens Kołaczkowski, Wspomnienia, vol. 1 (Kraków, 1898), p. 32. 35 Józef Godlewski, Głosy posła mariampolskiego na sejmie roku 1811 w Warszawie miane z dołączeniem uwag i krótkiego namienienia niektórych w czasie sejmu czynności (Warsaw, 1814), p. 7; Skowronek, Książę Józef, p. 148. 36 Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, p. 349. 37 Biblioteka Czartoryskich (Czartoryski Library), Ewidencja, file no. 6164, p. 8.

Chapter 6 1 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 283–6; Burnett, Obraz obecnego stanu Polski, p. 47. 2 Henryk Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza Księstwa Warszawskiego na podstawie spisów ludności 1808 i 1810 r. (Warsaw, 1925), pp. 45, 54, 104. 3 Wawrzyniec Surowiecki, O upadku przemysłu i miast w Polsce, in idem, Dzieła wybrane (Warsaw, 1957), pp. 163, 218–19; Artur Rogalski, Szkice z dziejów Węgrowa i powiatu węgrowskiego w czasach napoleońskich (Węgrów, 2010), pp. 63–5.

228

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4 Stanisław Staszic, O statystyce Polski. Krótki rzut wiadomości potrzebnych tym, którzy ten kraj chcą oswobodzić i tym, którzy w nim chcą rządzić (Warsaw, 1807), p. 19; Dariusz Złotkowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego w okresie Księstwa Warszawskiego (Częstochowa, 2001), pp. 84 ff., 144–9. 5 Barbara Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny Księstwa Warszawskiego. Z badań nad strukturą gospodarczą (Warsaw, 1967), pp. 108–9, 238. 6 Dominik Krysiński, ‘List do Antoniego Gliszczyńskiego’, in idem, Wybór pism (Warsaw, 1956), p. 7; Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, p. 74. 7 Surowiecki, O upadku przemysłu, pp. 35–6, 90–1; Tadeusz Szumski, Myśli ogólne o polepszeniu handlu, rolnictwa, przemysłu i edukacji narodowej (Poznań, 1811), pp. 16, 32–3. 8 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 132–4; Janowski, Polska myśl liberalna, p. 45; Surowiecki, O upadku przemysłu, pp. 78, 84, 91. 9 Surowiecki, O upadku przemysłu, pp. 218–20; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 294. 10 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 123–4; Barbara Grochulska, ‘Uwagi o bilansie handlowym Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Przegląd Historyczny 51 (1960), pp. 3, 487–9. 11 Danuta Rzepniewska, Gospodarstwo folwarczne na Mazowszu 1795-1806 (Warsaw, 1968), pp. 53, 44–50. 12 Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, pp. 57–62, 66; vol. 3, p. 27. 13 Artur Eisenbach and Danuta Rzepniewska, ‘Zadłużenie własności ziemskiej w okresie 1795-1806. Dłużnicy i wierzyciele sum bajońskich’, in Społeczeństwo polskie XVIII i XIX w. Studia o uwarstwieniu i ruchliwości społecznej, vol. 4, ed. Witold Kula and Janina Leskiewiczowa (Warsaw, 1970), pp. 200, 205–8, 210, 219–22, 242–3; Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, pp. 61–2; vol. 3, pp. 29–30. 14 Surowiecki, O upadku przemysłu, p. 224; Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz, Pamiętniki 1811-1820 (Poznań, 1871), vol. 1, p. 242; Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, p. 73. 15 Raport Deputacji Ceł, Akcyz i Konsumpcji Departamentu Bydgoskiego, Bydgoszcz 24 V 1809, AGAD, Komisja Rządowa Przychodów i Skarbu no. 69, p. 40; Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, pp. 61–2. 16 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 176–7, 181; Rafał Kowalczyk, Polityka gospodarcza i finansowa Księstwa Warszawskiego w latach 1807-1812 (Łódź, 2010), p. 244 ff; Davout to Napoleon, Hamburg 26 November 1811, in Skałkowski, O cześć imienia polskiego, pp. 315–17. 17 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 115–20, 125–6, 171–3; eadem, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 166; Kowalczyk, Polityka gospodarcza i finansowa, p. 157 ff. 18 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 105–6, 126–8, 228–31. 19 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 130–1; Złotkowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego (Częstochowa, 2001), pp. 216–17. 20 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 24–40, 62–3, 68, 76, 81–101, 103, 198. 21 Barbara Grochulska, ‘Kontrowersyjne problemy blokady’, in Wiek XIX, ed. Barbara Grochulska, Bogusław Leśnodorski and Andrzej Zahorski (Warsaw, 1967), pp. 99, 105, 107; François Crouzet, ‘Wars, Blockade and Economic Changes in Europe, 1792-1815’, Journal of Economic History 24/4 (1964), pp. 581–2; Geoffrey Ellis, The Napoleonic Empire (Basingstoke, 2003), p. 113 ff. 22 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 265–6; eadem, ‘Uwagi o bilansie handlowym’, pp. 500, 505, 507; Michał Baczkowski, W cieniu napoleońskich orłów. Rada Municypalna 1810-1815 (Kraków, 2010), p. 30.

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23 Złotkowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego, pp. 85, 223–4, 225; Niemcewicz, Pamiętniki 1811-1820, vol. 1, p. 203; Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 219–20; Baczkowski, W cieniu napoleońskich orłów, pp. 29–30, 107. 24 Rafał Kowalczyk, ‘Intendentura wojsk Księstwa Warszawskiego’, in Studia z historii społeczno-gospodarczej XIX i XX w., ed. Wiesław Puś (Łódź, 2006), vol. 4, pp. 25, 27, 29; Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 140, 221; Godlewski, Głosy posła mariampolskiego, p. 49. 25 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 166, 169; eadem, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 221, 236. 26 Rzepniewska, Gospodarstwo folwarczne, pp. 348–9; Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 166–70; eadem, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 84–6, 89–90, 106–8, 126, 252; Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, pp. 36, 64–7. 27 Grochulska, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 239, 247–52; eadem, ‘Uwagi o bilansie handlowym’, pp. 505, 508–9; Kowalczyk, Polityka gospodarcza i finansowa, p. 157. 28 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 168, 177; eadem, Handel zagraniczny, pp. 112–13, 140–1, 273–5; Złotkowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego, p. 227; Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, pp. 28, 79; Rzepniewska, Gospodarstwo folwarczne, p. 149.

Chapter 7 1 Gazeta Warszawska 1807, no. 61 (1 August), p. 994; Janowski, Polska myśl liberalna, pp. 33–6. Szaniawski to Andrzej Horodyski, 20 August 1807, in Korespondencja w materiach obraz kraju i narodu rozjaśniających (Warsaw, 1807), pp. 178–9. 2 Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, pp. 54–5, 58–9, 73–4. 3 Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, p. 67; Janowski, Polska myśl liberalna, p. 41. 4 For opinions on this matter, see: Handelsman, Z dziejów Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 187, 192; Hipolit Grynwaser, ‘Demokracja szlachecka’, in idem, Pisma (Wrocław, 1951), pp. 186–7; Bogusław Leśnodorski, ‘Elementy feudalne i burżuazyjne w ustroju i prawie Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Czasopismo Prawno-Historyczne 3 (1951), pp. 308–9, 311, 316. 5 Jerzy Jedlicki, ‘Szlachta’, in Przemiany społeczne w Królestwie Polskim 1815-1864, ed. Witold Kula and Janina Leskiewiczowa (Wrocław, 1979), p. 30. 6 Surowiecki, ‘O statystyce Księstwa Warszawskiego’, p. 448. 7 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 324–5. 8 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 326–7. 9 Maciej Mycielski, ‘Miasto ma mieszkańców, wieś obywateli’. Kajetana Koźmiana koncepcje wspólnoty politycznej (Wrocław, 2005), pp. 28, 100 ff. 10 Danuta Rzepniewska, ‘Rodzina ziemiańska w Królestwie Polskim’, in Społeczeństwo polskie XVIII i XIX w. Studia o rodzinie, ed. Janina Leskiewiczowa (Warsaw, 1991), vol. 9, pp. 158–9; Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz, Dwaj panowie Sieciechowie (Wrocław, 1950), pp. 3–8. 11 Jedlicki, ‘Szlachta’, pp. 27–9, 47, 49, 52; Danuta Rzepniewska, ‘Wiejscy oficjaliści’, in Społeczeństwo Królestwa Polskiego, ed. Witold Kula (Warsaw, 1965), vol. 1, pp. 201–2. 12 Richard Butterwick, Polska rewolucja a Kościół katolicki 1788-1792 (Kraków, 2012), pp. 100–3, 189–201. 13 Ziółek, Między tronem i ołtarzem, pp. 55 ff., 189 ff., 347, 356 ff., 534.

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14 Elżbieta Kaczyńska, ‘Mieszczaństwo’, in Kula, Przemiany społeczne, pp. 81, 85, 87; Grossman, Struktura społeczna i gospodarcza, p. 64; Baczkowski, W cieniu napoleońskich orłów, pp. 35–6. 15 Artur Eisenbach, ‘Prawa obywatelskie i honorowe Żydów (1790-1861)’, in Kula, Społeczeństwo Królestwa Polskiego, vol. 1, pp. 244–6, 249–52; Baczkowski, W cieniu napoleońskich orłów, p. 236 ff.; Skowronek, Książę Józef, p. 182; Artur Eisenach, ‘Dobra ziemskie w posiadaniu Żydów’, in Społeczeństwo polskie XIX w. Studia o uwarstwieniu i ruchliwości społecznej, ed. Witold Kula (Warsaw, 1968), vol. 3, pp. 206–7, 209–12; Eisenbach, ‘Mobilność terytorialna ludności żydowskiej w Królestwie Polskim’, in Społeczeństwo Królestwa Polskiego, ed. Witold Kula (Warsaw, 1966), vol. 2, pp. 185, 187–9; Baczkowski, Wojsko polskie w napoleońskim Krakowie, pp. 34–5. 16 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 336–8. 17 Eisenbach, ‘Prawie obywatelskie,’ p. 253; Baczkowski, W cieniu napoleońskich orłów, pp. 27, 60; Surowiecki, O upadku przemysłu i miast, p. 208 ff.; Staszic, O statystyce Polski, p. 20. 18 Baczkowski, W cieniu napoleońskich orłów, pp. 136–7; Złotkowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego, pp. 96–7, 112, 257–62. 19 Jan Kosim, Losy pewnej fortuny. Z dziejów burżuazji warszawskiej w latach 1807-1830 (Wrocław, 1972), pp. 16–18, 22–5, 66–7, 69, 81–2, 101–2, 107; Potocka, Wspomnienia naocznego świadka, pp. 244, 260; Handelsman, Pomiędzy Prusami a Rosją, pp. 11–13; Ireneusz Ihnatowicz, Burżuazja warszawska (Warsaw, 1972), p. 38. 20 Kosim, Losy pewnej fortuny, pp. 27, 56–9, 66–7, 88–9, 248, 275; Barbara Grochulska, ‘“Dom” S. A. L. Fraenkel’, in Dzieje burżuazji w Polsce, ed. Ryszard Kołodziejczyk (Warsaw, 1983), vol. 3, pp. 43, 45–6. 21 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 344–6. 22 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 347–51; Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, pp. 51–2. 23 Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, p. 357 ff.; Bronisław Pawłowski, Warszawa w 1809 r. (Toruń, 1948), pp. 107–8, 119–21. 24 Złotowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego, p. 200 ff.; sessions of the Council of State 23 August 1808 and 5 October 1808, in Protokoły Rady Stanu, vol. 1, part 2, pp. 77, 150. 25 Godlewski, Głosy posła mariampolskiego, pp. 48, 50, appendix D and F; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 355–7. 26 Marek Krzymkowski, Status prawny urzędników Księstwa Warszawskiego (Poznań, 2004), pp. 39 ff., 71 ff.; Paweł Cichoń, ‘Kwalifikacje zawodowe urzędników jako podstawa kształtowania się systemu biurokratycznego w Księstwie Warszawskim’, in Dzieje biurokracji na ziemiach polskich, ed. Artur Górak, Ireneusz Łuć and Dariusz Magier (Lublin and Siedlce, 2008), p. 136 ff. 27 Surowiecki, O statystyce Księstwa Warsawskiego, p. 275; Krzymkowski, Status prawny urzędników, pp. 58–9. 28 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 364–5. 29 Maciej Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji 1750-1831 (Warsaw, 2008), pp. 139–40. 30 Barbara Szacka, Stanisław Staszic. Portret uczonego (Warsaw, 1962), p. 100 ff.; Maria z Czartoryskich Wirtemberska, Malwina, czyli Domyślność serca (Kraków, 2002), p. 5: quoted here according to Maria Wirtemberska, Malvina, or the Heart’s Intuition, translated with an Introduction by Ursula Phillips (DeKalb, IL, 2012), p. 3. 31 Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji, pp. 37 ff., 154, 158–9, 180 ff.

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32 Adam Winiarz, Szkolnictwo Księstwa Warszawskiego i Królestwa Polskiego (18071831) (Lublin, 2002), pp. 521–2. 33 Kazimierz Ossowski, Prasa Księstwa Warszawskiego (Warsaw, 2004), pp. 35, 87–93, 103–5, 120–21, 133, 201–8, 221, 376–80. 34 Janusz Polaczek, Sztuka i polityka w Księstwie Warszawskim (Rzeszów, 2005), pp. 80–1, 100–1, 116–19. 35 Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji, pp. 132–4; Irena Rychlikowa, Ziemiaństwo polskie 1789-1864. Zróżnicowanie społeczne (Warsaw, 1983), p. 130 ff. 36 Ludwik Hass, Wolnomularstwo w Europie Środkowo-Wschodniej w XVIII i XIX w. (Wrocław, 1982), pp. 217–18, 222–6, 230–40; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 386–90. 37 Kosim, Losy pewnej fortuny, pp. 58, 271; Artur Eisenbach and Jan Kosim, ‘Akt masy spadkowej Judyty Jakubowiczowej’, Biuletyn Żydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego 39 (1961), pp. 95, 114–16; Rzepniewska, Rodzina ziemiańska w Królestwie Polskim, pp. 142–3, 146, 150. 38 Czubaty, Wodzowie i politycy, p. 266 ff. 39 Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji, p. 158; Małgorzata Karpińska, ‘Lekarze polscy doby Oświecenia – próba portretu grupy’, Wiek Oświecenia 5 (1988), pp. 115, 127; Winiarz, Szkolnictwo Księstwa Warszawskiego, p. 164. 40 Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji, pp. 138–9. 41 Tadeusz Mencel, ‘Gmina wiejska w Księstwie Warszawskim’, Czasopismo PrawnoHistoryczne 36/1 (1984), p. 61.

Chapter 8 1 Stanisław August Poniatowski, Pamiętniki, ed. Władysław Konopczyński and Stanisław Ptaszycki (Warsaw, 1915), vol. 1, part 1, pp. 63–4; Maciej Mycielski, Rząd Królestwa Polskiego wobec sejmików i zgromadzeń gminnych 1815-1830 (Warsaw, 2010), pp. 137–8. 2 Staszic, O statystyce Polski, p. 36; Rajmund Rembieliński do Józefa Kalasantego Szaniawskiego, Warsaw 18 September 1807, in Korespondencja w materiach obraz kraju i narodu rozjaśniających, pp. 208, 212, 214; Bignon, Polska w roku 1811 i 1813, vol. 1, p. 125; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, p. 296 ff. 3 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 64–5; Polaczek, Sztuka i polityka, p. 126; Tadeusz Łepkowski, ‘Propaganda napoleońska w Księstwie Warszawskim’, Przegląd Historyczny 1 (1962), pp. 51–85. 4 Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, p. 53; Henryk Brandt, Pamiętniki oficera polskiego (1808-1812) (Warsaw, 1904), part 2, p. 123. 5 Vincent’s report of 6 August 1807, in Handelsman, Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 1, p. 9. 6 Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 303–9, 399 ff.; Ruling Commission to its delegates, Warsaw, 30 September 1807, in Materiały do dziejów Komisji Rządzącej. Korespondencja Komisji z delegatami do Drezna Ludwikiem Gutakowskim i Stanisławem Potockim, ed. Henryk Konic (Warsaw, 1910), p. 89. 7 Neyman to Jan Nepomucen Małachowski, Warsaw, 29 September 1807, in Korespondencja w materiach obraz kraju i narodu rozjaśniających, pp. 219–30. 8 Niemcewicz, Pamiętniki o czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego, pp. 190, 193; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 412–13.

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9 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 415; Davout to Berthier, Thorn, 1 August 1807, in Davout, Correpsondance du maréchal Davout, vol. 2, p. 8; Surowiecki, O statystyce Księstwa Warszawskiego, p. 448. 10 Anna Rosner, ‘Posłowie i deputowani sejmów Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Wiek Oświecenia 5 (1988), pp. 158–9. 11 Skarbek, Dzieje Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 2, pp. 20–1; Council of State session of 1 April 1808, in Bronisław Pawłowski, Protokoły Rady Stanu, vol. 1, part 1, p. 228; Decree of Frederick Augustus, Pilnitz, 21 July 1808, in Bartel, Kosim and Rostocki (eds), Ustawodawstwo Księstwa Warszawskiego, vol. 1, pp. 134–5; Kallas, Konstytucja Księstwa Warszawskiego, p. 68. 12 Willaume, Fryderyk August wobec sprawy polskiej, p. 147; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 134–5, 307–10; Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 118. 13 Kula, ‘Udział w władzy’, in Kula and Leszkiewiczowa (eds), Przemiany społeczne, p. 404 ff. 14 Falkowski, Obrazy z życia kilka ostatnich pokoleń, vol. 1, pp. 42–7, 54–61, vol. 2, pp. 9–36; Letter of Tadeusz Matuszewicz, cited in Janusz Iwaszkiewicz, Litwa w 1812 r. (Kraków and Warsaw, 1912), pp. 116–17. 15 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 428–30. 16 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 433. 17 Anna Rosner, ‘Tradycja państwa i prawa Rzeczypospolitej szlacheckiej w początkach XIX w.’, in Europa XVI-XVIII w. Próba konfrontacji, ed. Michał Kopczyński and Wojciech Tygielski (Warsaw, 1999), p. 231. 18 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 436–8; Koźmian, Pamiętniki, vol. 2, pp. 285, 299–300; Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, p. 352. 19 Szymon Askenazy, ‘Na rozdrożu (1812-1813)’, Biblioteka Warszawska 1 (1911), pp. 210–11; Czubaty Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 406–8. 20 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 443–7; Friedrich Senfft von Pilsach, Memoires du comte de Senfft, ancien ministre de Saxe (Leipzig, 1863), pp. 122–3; Alojzy Orchowski, ‘O włościanach w Polsce’, Kronika Emigracji Polskiej 5 (1837), pp. 259–60. 21 Koźmian, Pamiętniki, vol. 2, p. 123; Letter of Ludwik Plater, 21 July 1807, quoted in Skowronek, Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, p. 148. 22 Vincent’s reports from Warsaw, 2 October, 18 September and 27 October 1807, in Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 1, pp. 26–7, 32, 43; Note transmise par le maréchal Davout, 9 October 1807, in Correspondance du maréchal Davout, vol. 2, pp. 79–80. 23 Jarosław Czubaty, ‘The Attitudes of the Polish Political Elite towards the State in the Period of the Duchy of Warsaw’, in Collaboration and Resistance in Napoleonic Europe, ed. Michael Rowe (Basingstoke, 2003), pp. 173–7. 24 Hipolit Grynwasser, ‘Kodeks Napoleona w Polsce’, in idem, Pisma (Wrocław, 1951), vol. 1, pp. 21–66. 25 Butterwick, The Polish Revolution and the Catholic Church, pp. 6–7, 22, 284–9, 323–8. 26 Ziołek, Między tronem i ołtarzem, pp. 100–44, 192–211, 333–90; Martyna Deszczyńska, ‘“Religia stanu” w opiniach duchowieństwa Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Wiek Oświecenia 25 (2009), pp. 61–77; Korespondencja w materiach obraz kraju i narodu rozjaśniających, p. 270; Episcopal memo of 3 March 1809, in Sześcioletnia korespondencja władz duchowych z rządem świeckim Księstwa Warszawskiego służąca do historii Kościoła Polskiego (Warsaw, 1816), pp. 28–40; Barbara

Notes

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29 30 31 32 33 34

35

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Grochulska, ‘O niektórych aspektach konfliktu Kościoła z rządem Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Rocznik Towarzystwa Literackiego im. Adama Mickiewicza 19 (1984), pp. 115–16, 118–20. Ziołek, Między tronem i ołtarzem, pp. 670–705. Jarosław Czubaty, ‘Kraj pod rządami złodziei, masonów i rozpusty. Konserwatywna świadomość okresu przełomu 1807-1814’, Regiony 1–3 (1988), pp. 210–25; Czubaty, ‘The Attitudes of the Polish Political Elite’, pp. 178–9. Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 419–34. Mycielski, ‘Miasto ma mieszkańców, wieś obywateli’, pp. 48–87. Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 461–3; Czubaty, ‘The Attitudes of the Polish Political Elite’, pp. 181–2. Address to the King, 14 December 1811, in Godlewski, Głosy posła mariampolskiego, pp. 5–7. Library of the Polish Academy of Sciences, Kraków, manuscript 139, pp. 267–8. Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 466–8; Vincent’s report, Warsaw, 2 October 1807, in Handelsman, Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 1, p. 32; Mycielski, Rząd Królestwa Polskiego, pp. 35–6; Marceli Handelsman, ‘Projekt zmiany konstytucji z r. 1812’, in idem, Pod znakiem Napoleona. Studia historyczne, seria II (Warsaw, 1913), pp. 203–10, 212. Godlewski, Głosy posła mariampolskiego, pp. 4–5.

Chapter 9 1 Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 197–202; Nawrot, Litwa i Napoleon w 1812, pp. 56–63; Kukiel, Wojna 1812 roku, vol. 1, pp. 13–43. 2 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 473–4; Kowalczyk, Polityka gospodarcza i finansowa Księstwa Warszawskiego, p. 303. 3 Report of Lieutenant Colonel Gabriel Jędrzejewicz in Bielecki i Tyszka (eds), Dał nam przykład Bonaparte, vol. 2, pp. 68–9. 4 Kukiel, Wojna 1812 roku, vol. 2, pp. 143–4, 161–3; Robert Bielecki, ‘L’effort militaire Polonais 1806-1815’, Revue de l’Institut Napoléon 132 (1976), pp. 163–4. 5 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 190; Kukiel, Wojna 1812 roku, vol. 1, pp. 77–83, 111–13. 6 Iwaszkiewicz, Litwa w 1812 r., pp. 116–17; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, p. 446 ff. 7 Diariusz sejmowy z r. 1812 (Warsaw, 1812), no. 1, pp. 22–4; no. 2, pp. 41–2; Dziennik Konfederacji Generalnej Królestwa Polskiego z roku 1812 (Warsaw, 1812), no. 1, pp. 2–8. 8 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 191; Anna Rosner, ‘Tradycja szlachecka sejmikowania w XW [Księstwie Warszawskim] i Królestwie Polskim’, Czasopismo Prawno-Historyczne 49: parts 1–2 (1997), p. 278. 9 Bignon, Polska w 1811 i 1813, vol. 2, p. 11; Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, p. 374; Nawrot, Litwa i Napoleon w 1812, pp. 143–50. 10 Handelsman, ‘Projekt zmiany konstytucji z r. 1812’, pp. 200–2. 11 AGAD, Archiwum Zamoyskich, 84, pp. 4–5, 30–1; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 488–90. 12 On Polish participation in the battle, see Andrzej Dusiewicz, Smoleńsk 1812 (Warsaw, 2012).

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13 Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 214–19; Kukiel, Wojna 1812, vol. 1, pp. 162–4; vol. 2, p. 21. 14 Nawrot, Litwa i Napoleon w 1812, pp. 175–7, 347–59, 720–6. 15 Kukiel, Wojna 1812, vol. 2, pp. 4–7, 264–7, 384 ff. On the operations in Volhynia and the eastern borderlands of the Duchy, see Juliusz Willaume, ‘Obrona Księstwa Warszawskiego w 1812 r.’, Przegląd Historyczno-Wojskowy 3 (1930), pp. 145–80; Andrzej Chojnacki, ‘Wojna i żołnierze departamentu siedleckiego w czasach Księstwa Warszawskiego’, in Siedlce w dobie napoleońskiej 1809-1815, ed. Artur Rogalski (Siedlce, 2009), pp. 15–45. 16 On the role of the 5th Corps in the march on Moscow and the history of its retreat, see Marian Kukiel, Dzieje oręża polskiego 1795-1815 (Poznań, 1912), p. 264 ff.; Andrzej Dusiewicz, Tarutino 1812 (Warsaw, 2004); Robert Bielecki, Berezyna 1812 (Warsaw, 1990). 17 Fiszerowa, Dzieje moje własne, pp. 379–80; Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 503–8. 18 Proclamation of the General Council, 20 December 1812, AGAD, Archiwum Zamoyskich 85, p. 79. 19 Mariusz Łukaszewicz, Armia księcia Józefa 1813 (Warsaw, 1986), pp. 49–51, 54–60, 129; Szymon Askenazy, Książę Józef Poniatowski (Warsaw, 1913), pp. 272–3, LXXX. 20 Stanisław Zamoyski to Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, Warsaw, 6 December 1812, Biblioteka Czartoryskich, Ew. 835, p. 111; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, p. 551 ff. 21 Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 235–6; F. Lajard to H. Maret, Warsaw, 2 January 1813, in Handelsman, Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 2, p. 295; E. Bignon to H. Maret, 26 March 1813, ibidem, pp. 482–3. 22 Łukaszewicz, Armia księcia Józefa 1813, p. 121 ff.; Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 232–4. 23 Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 235–6; Askenazy, Książę Józef, pp. 279–80; Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, pp. 573–7. 24 E. Bignon to H. Maret, Kraków, 3 April, 16 April, 23 April, 1 May and 16 May 1813, in Handelsman, Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 2, pp. 500, 536–7, 553, 600. 25 Askenazy, Książę Józef, pp. LXXXIII–LXXXIV; Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 244–5. 26 Askenazy, Książę Józef, pp. 279, 282, XC; Skowronek, Książę Józef, pp. 242–5; Łukaszewicz, Armia księcia Józefa 1813, pp. 157–9; Koźmian, Pamiętniki, vol. 2, p. 102. 27 AGAD, Archiwum Zamoyskich 84, pp. 51–2. 28 Maciej Rybiński, Moje przypomnienia od urodzenia, ed. Zbigniew Fras and Norbert Kasparek (Wrocław, 1993), p. 122; Czartoryski’s notes of 31 October, 1 June and 5 November 1813, Biblioteka Czartoryskich, Ew. 6164, p. 24. 29 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 526–7; Natalia Gąsiorowska, ‘Rekwizycje w Księstwie Warszawskim okupowanym przez Rosję w r. 1813-1815’, in Likwidacja skutków wojny w dziedzinie stostunków prawnych i ekonomicznych w Polsce, vol. 2 (Warsaw, 1917). 30 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 528–31. 31 Walentyna Nagórska-Rudzka, ‘Polskie działania dyplomatyczne na obczyźnie przed kongresem wiedeńskim’, in Księga pamiątkowa ku uczczeniu 25-letniej działalności naukowej prof. Marcelego Handelsmana, ed. Henryk Bachulski (Warsaw, 1929), p. 297. 32 Fredro, Trzy po trzy, pp. 67–8; Pachoński, Generał Jan Henryk Dąbrowski, pp. 606–14; Bartołomej Szyndler, Tadeusz Kościuszko (1746-1817) (Warsaw, 1991), pp. 347–9.

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33 Wacław Tokarz, ‘Komitet Organizacyjny Wojskowy (1814–1815)’, Bellona 11 (1919), pp. 848–9. 34 Czubaty, Księstwo Warszawskie, pp. 536–7. 35 Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, p. 610 ff. 36 Gazeta Warszawska 50 (21 June 1815), p. 911 ff.

Epilogue 1 Quoted in Stanisław Smolka, Polityka Lubeckiego przed powstaniem listopadowym (Warsaw, 1982), vol. 2, p. 71. 2 Biblioteka Czartoryskich Ew. 6164, p. 24; Andrzej Zahorski, Spór o Napoleona w Francji i w Polsce (Warsaw, 1974), p. 88. 3 Zahorski, Spór o Napoleona, pp. 151–68. 4 To the existing works already cited above on this theme, we should add: Marceli Handelsman, Napoléon et la Pologne 1806-1807 (Paris, 1909); Eugeniusz Wawrzkowicz, Anglia a sprawa polska 1813-1815 (Kraków and Warsaw, 1919); Juliusz Willaume, ‘Politya Prus wobec Księstwa Warszawskiego’, Sprawozdania z Czynności i Posiedzeń Łódźkiego Towarzystwa Naukowego 2 (8) (1949) [Łódź, 1952]; idem, ‘Stanowisko Prus wobec sprawy polskiej na kongresie wiedeńskim’, Przegląd Zachodni 1–2 (1959). 5 Final Act of the Congress of Vienna, Article 1; Władysław Zajewski, ‘Kongres wiedeński i Święte Przymierze’, in Europa i świat w epoce restauracji, romantyzmu i rewolucji, ed. Władysław Zajewski (Warsaw, 1991), pp. 47–9. 6 On the place of the Duchy of Warsaw in the imperial system, see Władysław Sobociński, ‘Księstwo Warszawskie a Cesarstwo Francuskie (Zależność faktyczna i prawno-międzynarodowa. Rezultaty przeobrażeń wewnętrznych)’, Przegląd Historyczny 1 (1965), pp. 55–7. 7 Juliusz Bardach and Monika Senkowska-Gluck (eds), Historia państwa i prawa Polski, vol. 3 (Warsaw, 1981) p. 73. 8 Historians’ debates on the organizational principles of the Napoleonic Empire are discussed by Geoffrey Ellis, The Napoleonic Empire (Atlantic Highlands, NJ, 1991), p. 93 ff., and Stuart Woolf, Napoleon’s Integration of Europe (London, 1991). See also the articles by Geoffrey Ellis, Philip G. Dwyer, Charles J. Esdaile, Michael Broers and Alexander Grab, in Napoleon and Europe, Part 2: The Nature of the Empire, ed. Philip G. Dwyer (Harlow, 2001); and Władysław Sobociński, ‘Prawo francuskie w Niemczech a w Polsce (nowe opracowania niemieckie recepcji i refleksje porównawcze)’, Annales Universitatis Marie Curie-Skłodowska 39/9 (1982), pp. 158–88. 9 Pavković, ‘Recruitment and Conscription in the Kingdom of Westphalia’, p. 145; John H. Gill, ‘Armies of the Confederation of the Rhine’, in Armies of the Napoleonic Wars, ed. Gregory Fremont-Barnes (Barnsley, 2011), p. 154 ff.; Frederick C. Schneid, ‘The Army of the Kingdom of Italy’, in ibidem, p. 247. 10 ‘Czy powstanie miało szanse? Rozmowa z Tomaszem Łubieńskim i Andrzejem Szwarcem’, Mówią Wieki 11 (2010), p. 9; Grochulska, ‘Mała wielka epoka’, Mówią Wieki (Special Issue) May 2007, p. 6. 11 Skowronek, ‘Sprawa polska’, pp. 392–4. This process is also discussed by Tomasz Kizwalter, O nowoczesności narodu. Przypadek polski (Warsaw, 1999), pp. 42–105, 151–92, 230–69.

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12 Danuta Rzepniewska, ‘Migracje’ in Kula, Przemiany społeczne, pp. 170–1. 13 Kosim, Losy pewnej fortuny, p. 55; Skowronek, ‘Sprawa polska’, pp. 391–2; SójkaZielińska, Kodeks Napoleona, p. 209 ff. 14 Skowronek, ‘Sprawa polska’, p. 391; Ellis, The Napoleonic Empire, p. 53. 15 Złotkowski, Miasta departamentu kaliskiego, p. 24. 16 Anna Rosner, ‘Prawo i władza’, Mówią Wieki (Special Issue) May 2007, pp. 60–3; Grochulska, ‘Mała wielka epoka’, p. 15; Skowronek, ‘Sprawa polska’, pp. 396–7; Marian Kallas, Historia ustroju Polski (Warsaw, 2005), p. 200. 17 Handelsman, ‘Z dziejów Księstwa Warszawskiego’, pp. 193–4; Bogusław Leśnodorski, ‘U progu nowego stulecia. Księstwo Warszawskie’, in Historia i współczesność, ed. Bogusław Leśnodorski (Warsaw, 1967), pp. 207–8. 18 Dominique de Pradt, Histoire de l’ambassade dans le Grand Duché de Varsovie en 1812 (Paris, 1815), pp. 81–2; Instrukcje i depesze rezydentów francuskich, vol. 1, p. XVIII; Władysław Rostocki, ‘Z badań porównawczych nad ustrojem Księstwa Warszawskiego i Francji. Organizacja kancelarii’, Czasopisma Prawno-Historyczne 13/1 (1961), p. 125. 19 Rostocki, ‘Z badań porównawczych nad ustrojem Księstwa Warszawskiego i Francji’, p. 125. 20 Grochulska, Księstwo Warszawskie, p. 89. 21 Jedlicki, ‘Szlachta’, pp. 30–1, 55; idem, ‘Przedmowa’, in Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji, p. 9. 22 Marek Krymkowski, Status prawny urzędników Księstwa Warszawskiego (Poznań, 2004), pp. 107–8. 23 Janowski, Narodziny inteligencji, pp. 138, 140. 24 Jean Tulard, Napoleon – mit zbawcy, translated [from French into Polish] by Katarzyna Dunin (Warsaw, 2003), pp. 267–8. 25 Czubaty, Zasada ‘dwóch sumień’, p. 660 ff. 26 Quoted in Juliusz Falkowski, Obrazy z życia kilka ostatnich pokoleń, 5 vols (Poznań, 1877–87), vol. 5, p. 515. 27 Antoni Paweł Sułkowski, Listy do żony z wojen napoleońskich, ed. Robert Bielecki (Warsaw, 1987), pp. 3–56; Skowronek, Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, p. 205. 28 Józef Piłsudski, Pisma – mowy – rozkazy, vol. 5 (Warsaw, 1933), pp. 187–8. 29 Józef Szujski, ‘Kilka prawd z dziejów naszych. Ku rozważeniu w chwili obecnej’, in Stańczycy. Antologia myśli społecznej i politycznej konserwatystów krakowskich, ed. Marcin Król (Warsaw, 1985), p. 62. 30 Polaczek, Sztuka i polityka w Księstwie Warszawskim, p. 298. 31 On the functioning of the Napoleonic legend in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Poland, see Skowronek, ‘Sprawa polska’, p. 402 ff. Devoted entirely to these issues are the monographs by Andrzej Zahorski: Spór o Napoleona w Francji i w Polsce (Warsaw, 1974) and Z dziejów legendy napoleońskiej w Polsce (Warsaw, 1971), and Andrzej Nieuważny, My z Napoleonem (Wrocław, 1999).

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Index Alexander I, Tsar of Russia 11, 14, 15, 44, 64, 68, 70, 74–5, 80, 141, 169, 172–3, 210–11 in 1811 153–5 and his Polish plan in 1807 27–8 and Polish question at Tilsit 34–6 and Polish question 1813–15 182–7, 190–3, 197–8 Askenazy, Szymon 196, 219 n.10 Augereau, Charles Pierre François 23 Augustus III, King of Poland 35, 46 Baczkowski, Michał 119 Badeni, Marcin 174 Bagration, Pyotr 176 Barclay de Tolly, Mikhail 176 ‘Bayonne sums’ 60, 98, 100 Berezina, Battle of 94, 179–180 Bergsohn-Sonnenberg, Berek 121 Bennigsen, Leonty 23, 32, 34 Berthier, Louis-Alexandre 23–4, 68 Białkowski Antoni 82–3 Bielecki, Robert 61 Bignon, Louis Pierre Edouard 85, 185–6 Bolesław I Chrobry, King of Poland 62 Bonaparte, Jérôme, King of Westphalia 33, 35, 171, 176 Borodino, battle of 179 Breza, Stanisław 29, 47 Burnett, George 95 Chłapowski, Dezydery 13, 31 Czartoryski family 114, 147, 154, 156 Czartoryski, Adam Jerzy 11, 71, 94, 147, 153–7, 172, 195, 203 political activity in 1807 27–8 in 1813–15 182–9, 193 Czartoryski, Adam Kazimierz 71, 129, 172, 174 Czartoryski, Konstanty 85, 172

Danzig, siege of 33, 84 Davout, Louis Nicolas 13, 24, 64, 100, 177–8, 206 in the Duchy of Warsaw 46, 54–6, 58, 60, 123–4, 142, 144, 146, 157–8 Dąbrowski, Jan Henryk 9, 54–5, 58, 66, 73, 90, 136, 179–80, activity in 1806–7 15–6, 19–20, 25–6, 29–30, 33 activity in 1814–15 190–2 ‘December decree’ 48–9, 111–12 Dembiński, Henryk 86, 177 Dembowski, Tadeusz 47 d’Este, Ferdinand Archduke 63–5, 67, 69, 72 de Pradt, Dominique-Georges 174, 180, 206–7 Dirschau (Tczew), Battle of 33 Dłuski, Wincenty 162–3 Drucki-Lubecki, Ksawery 185 Duchy of Warsaw administration 40, 49–50 army 60–1, 64–6, 70, 79–94, 104, 126, 134–5, 201–2 constitution 38, 110–11, 116, 199, 206 competences of the ruler 39 Council of State 40 equality before the law 42 local assemblies 42, 44 ministers 39–40 parliament (sejm) 41, 44 political rights 43 Polish reactions to 45–6 ‘capitalists’ 120–3 Catholic Church and clergy 6, 21, 115, 140, 152, 159–62 civil service 124–9, 134, 205–6 continental blockade 34, 59, 97–8, 103–7, 155 creation of 35 culture 129–32

244 economy 59, 95–108 education 49, 130, 136, 138, 206 ethnic and social structure 109–10 finances of 59–60, 98–101, 104, 169–70 French residents in 56–9 government 47–9, 76, 145–7 intelligentsia 129–31, 137 landowners 113–15, 207 masonry 133–5 Napoleonic Code 50–2, 68, 75, 111, 116, 141, 158–9, 162, 164, 205–6 Napoleonic donations in 58–9, 98 Napoleonic cult in the Duchy 130–2, 140 noble estate (szlachta) 2, 6–11, 27, 114–15, 128, 136–8, 144–5, 158, 165, 207–8 parliament (sejm) 61–2, 142, 144, 148–51, 159, 163–4, 172–3, 200, 202 peasants 7–9, 22, 42, 43, 48–9, 111–13, 138, 143–4 in Polish tradition 212–16 political culture 61–2, 71–2, 75, 139–43, 150–3, 157–9, 163–7, 173, 199–200, 202–3 population 75, 109 social changes 132–8, 203–5, 207–10 territory 35–6, 75 townspeople 7–9, 17, 116, 143–4, 158 war in Spain 60–1 Epstein, Jakub 121–2, 134 Fiszer, Stanisław 30, 63, 82, 179 Fiszer, Wirydianna 152, 174 Fraenkel, Samuel 121, 123, 134–5 Francis I, Emperor of Austria 63, 67 Frederick Augustus, King of Saxony and Duke of Warsaw 35, 38–9, 40, 57, 60, 75, 77, 79, 93, 107, 117, 192–3 and the ministers of the Duchy 55, 145, 163, 171–2 and Napoleonic donations 58–9 and the parliament 60, 149, 163, 165,

Index and the General Confederation in 1812 174 his first visit to the Duchy 46–9 1813–14 demonstrations of loyalty towards 189–90 Frederick William II, King of Prussia 5 Frederick William III, King of Prussia 13, 15, 18, 64 Fredro, Aleksander 86, 92 Friedland, Battle of 34 Galicia 5, 15–16, 29, 45, 63–4, 66, 68–76 General Confederation of the Kingdom of Poland 173–5, 178, 181–2, 185, 187 Gliszczyński, Antoni 110, 126, 161 Godebski, Cyprian 26, 54, 65, 76–7 Godlewski, Józef 62, 104, 124, 140, 149–50, 166, 206 Grochulska, Barbara vii, 2, 102, 202, 205, 207, 216 Grossman, Henryk 120 Gutakowski, Ludwik 39, 47 Habsburg, Archduke Charles 63–4 Handelsman, Marceli 2, 110, 166, 206 Hass, Ludwik 135 Hauke, Maurycy 87, 90–1, Horodyski, Andrzej 211–12 Hoym, Karl Georg von 5, 12 Jakubowiczowa, Judyta 121, 135 Jan III Sobieski, King of Poland 30, 62, 76, 79, 94 Jedlicki, Jerzy 207, 236 n.21 Jews under Prussian rule 7–8 in the Duchy 89, 116–22, 134 in the army of the Duchy 88–9, 117–18 Joselewicz, Berek 76, 89, 134 Kallas, Marian 206 Kniaziewicz, Karol 180, 192 Kochanowski, Michał 146 Kołłątaj, Hugo 22, 52–4, 109, 146, 151 Korzon, Tadeusz 195 Kosiński, Amilkar 124, 170, 179 Kościuszko, Tadeusz 5, 16, 22, 31, 145, 155, 191

Index

245

Koźmian, Kajetan 93, 113, 125, 127, 152, 163, 182 Krasiński, Izydor 180 Krasiński, Józef 82 Krasiński, Wincenty 33, 191 Kronenberg, Samuel 121, 134 Krysiński, Dominik 96 Kuczyński, Dominik 152 Kukiel, Marian 2, 219 n.10 Kula, Witold 146

Niemcewicz, Julian Ursyn 47, 56–7, 61–2, 98, 104, 113, 151, 156, 193 Novosiltsev, Nikolay 185

Lajard, Felix 142 Lannes, Jean 23–4, 29, 34 Lanskoy, Vasily 185 Lefebvre, François Joseph 23, 84 Leipzig, Battle of 187–8 Lelewel, Joachim 208 Leśnodorski, Bogusław 206 Linowski, Aleksander 149, 174, 186 Lithuania 34, 42, 86, 130, 154, 171–2, 174, 175, 178–82, 196 Łubieński, Feliks 13, 45, 47, 52, 96–7, 109, 124–5, 146, 151, 164, 171, 189, 205 conflict with Kuczyński 152–3 political influence 48, 148–9, 166 Łukasiński, Walerian 195 Łuszczewski, Jan Paweł 47, 58, 97, 99, 146

partitions of Poland 5–6 Pelletier, Jean Baptiste 66, 68 Piłsudski, Józef 212–13 Podolia 70, 177 Polish Jacobins 9, 21–2, 37, 54, 56, 66–7, 75, 109, 143, 146, 156, 158–60, 165, 203 Polish legions 9, 31, 87 Poniatowski, Józef 18, 25, 33, 46–8, 58, 79–80, 85, 90, 100, 117, 122, 126, 134, 147, 164, 191 access to pro-Napoleonic option 20–1 activity in 1813 181, 184–7 Alexander I’s plan in 1811 154 campaign of 1809 63–76 as commander-in-chief 93–4 conflict with Dąbrowski and Zajączek 32, 54–5 relations with Davout 56 war of 1812 169–70, 176–7, 179–80 Potocki, Alexander 45, 47, 58 Potocki, Felix 155 Potocki, Ignacy 73 Potocki, Stanisław Kostka 20, 25, 38, 46, 48, 57, 63, 146, 154, 170, 180 Potocki Stanisław Szczęsny 80 Potocki, Włodzimierz 80, 85 Provisional Supreme Council 185 Prussian Partition political system 6–8 Poles and Prussian rule 9–11, 13–14, 16–17, 26–7 Przyszychowski, Feliks 83

Małachowski, Stanisław 19–20, 22, 25, 38, 47, 56–7, 156, 159 Maret, Hugues-Bernard 24, 38–9, 174–5 Matuszewicz, Tadeusz 100, 146–7, 154, 170–4, 180, 182, 186, 192, 194 Mostowski, Tadeusz 154, 182, 186 Murat, Joachim 18–20, 24, 32, 47 Nakwaski, Franciszek 146 Napoleon 1, 9, 21, 23, 32–6, 46, 60, 64, 73–5, 116, 192–3, 199–201 and constitution of the Duchy 37–9, 41–3 and Poles in 1806–7 13, 15–18, 22, 24–5 and restoration of Poland 155, 172, 174–5, 178, 185–7, 195–7 war of 1812 169, 176, 179, 180 Neumark, Salomon 121–3 Ney, Michel 34, 177

Ogiński, Michał Kleofas 154 Osiński, Ludwik 76, 131 Osten-Sacken, Fabian Gottlieb 186 Ostrowski, Antoni 174 Ostrowski, Tomasz 146, 189, 192 Owidzki, Joachim 174

Raczyński, Ignacy 21, 160 Radzimiński, Józef 21, 26 Radziwiłł, Antoni 13 Radziwiłł, Dominik 85–6, 176

246

Index

Raszyn, Battle of 65, 76–7 Rembieliński, Rajmund 139, 146 Romanov, Grand Duke Constantine 87, 190–1, 193 Rose, John Holland 2 Rożniecki, Aleksander 69 Ruling Commission 25, 29, 32, 35, 37–9, 42, 45–6, 48, 142 Russian Partition 141–2, 153–4

Talleyrand, Charles-Maurice 24 Third of May Constitution 5, 6, 21–2, 37, 41, 139, 142, 154, 158, 166, 182 Treaty of Tilsit 34–5 Polish reactions to 45, 53 Tulard, Jean 209–10 Turno, Kazimierz 86, 137 Ukraine 70, 177

Sanguszko, Eustachy 72, 74, 92 Schwarzenberg, Karl Philipp 179, 181, 187 Senfft von Pilsach, Friedrich 155 Serra, Giancarlo 56–8, 66, 68, 154 Skarbek, Fryderyk 1, 59, 99, 102, 127, 140, 145 Skarszewski, Wojciech 145–6 Skowronek, Jerzy 202–5 Smolensk, Battle of 177 Society of Friends of Science 11, 89, 129 Sokolnicki, Michał 65, 67–8, 93, 191 Sołtyk, Roman 80, 85 Stanisław August Poniatowski, King of Poland 5, 18, 22, 121, 139, 146 Staszic, Stanisław 12, 53, 96, 119, 129, 139, 151 Stern, Abraham 130 Sułkowski, Antoni Paweł 61, 85, 88, 192, 211 Surowiecki, Wawrzyniec 53, 95–7, 111, 119, 127, 144, 151 Szaniawski, Józef Kalasanty 109, 203 Szujski, Józef 213

Vincent-Marniola, Étienne 45–6, 56, 59, 141, 157–8, 165, 206 Virtuti Militari order 44, 91, 212–13 Volhynia 70, 177–9, 234 n.15 von Dietrichstein, Franz 74 Walewska, Marie 24 Wawrzecki, Tomasz 185 Węgrzecki, Stanisław 109 Wężyk, Franciszek 174 Wielhorski, Józef 81, 175, 192 Wirtemberska, Maria 129 Woronicz, Jan Paweł 156, 162 Wybicki, Józef 9, 15–16, 19, 22, 25, 26, 33, 38, 46, 48, 56, 62, 174 Zajączek, Ignacy 64, 124, 179 Zajączek, Józef 21, 32–3, 37, 46, 54–5, 58, 66, 72–3, 85, 180, 192 Zamoyska, Zofia 92, 185 Zamoyski, Stanisław 70–2, 147, 155, 174–5, 182, 185, 192, 203 Zbytkower, Szmul 120–1