Partition of Poland
The infamy of the 18th-century Polish nobles was already notorious across Europe, but even that reputation failed to convey the full extent of their depravity.
There wasn't a noble in all of Europe who hadn't heard of them—and the reality was far worse than the rumors suggested.
Comparing the pre-modern and early modern eras without the rise of nationalism is tricky, but to illustrate the true state of the Polish-Lithuanian nobility, consider this: late Joseon Korea, but with about half the population being active traitors on the level of Yi Wan-yong and the Eulsa Five.
Calling half of them outright sellouts might seem like an exaggeration, but if you include the passive bystanders, they undoubtedly formed a clear majority.
Joseon at least still functioned as a country; by this point, Poland-Lithuania had devolved into little more than a nobles' hobby club masquerading as a commonwealth.
This isn't hyperbole or slander—it's the unvarnished truth, without a shred of exaggeration.
Even in that much-maligned late Joseon era, if you grabbed any high official and said, "Everyone else has already switched sides except you—hop on board, you know this place is doomed," they'd explode in rage.
There were plenty who cozied up to foreign powers for personal gain, but they were branded as traitors precisely because they weren't the absolute majority.
If everyone had unanimously sold out from the start, there wouldn't have been anyone left to criticize them.
In that sense, it wasn't an overstatement to say Poland-Lithuania had already ceased to be a real country.
The moment hints of betrayal leaked from other nobles, the two major factions of Poland-Lithuania—the Czartoryskis and the Potockis—began to waver.
Calling them "major factions" was generous; the Czartoryskis couldn't even trust the families in their own reformist Famiglia alliance.
And the republican liberals under Potocki? No different at all.
"Your Highness, you mustn't trust the Czartoryskis. Those pigs have fattened themselves by clinging to Russia all these years."
"I shared your concerns, but Grand Judge Mikhau insisted they'd only been friendly with Russia, never sold out their interests."
"Don't believe a word of it. Who wouldn't talk big? Meanwhile, our family has always stayed close to Austria, hasn't it?"
True enough, the Potockis had been pro-French until France got crushed in the Polish succession war, at which point they swiftly flipped to pro-Austrian overnight.
Astonishing agility. Some Austrian nobles even called them the "Lightning Potockis."
"I'm grateful for the friendship your family has shown. But with the crisis escalating and alliances shifting so rapidly, nobles' loyalties are bound to change. Even in Lithuania, nobles flocked to the Russians the moment their army invaded."
"Wise words, Your Highness. But our conservative faction—no, the Potocki family—will never waver. I don't know what the Czartoryskis promised, but we can offer Austria far more."
Normally, when someone says others are betraying, you might at least pretend to hesitate. But look at this.
These were the Polish nobles: instantly outbidding the traitors with "We can give you more than they can."
True pros, operating on a whole different level from your average dysfunctional family.
Józef Potocki, leader of the conservatives, didn't hesitate for a single second before cutting loose the other conservative nobles who'd been riding with them.
In a world where no one was trustworthy, it was every man for himself—and things might unfold even more smoothly than expected.
"We can't do anything about nobles who've already gone to the Russians, but what can the Potockis promise my country?"
"Well... if I may be so bold, what does His Imperial Majesty desire for this land? Our family and the other nobles would surrender some rights if our estates are protected."
"So you're fine with the framework of Poland disappearing. Is that what you're saying?"
"...Frankly, yes."
They were easy to deal with. Their desperation was plain as day.
They knew full well that holding out alone meant the other nobles would sell the country out anyway.
Because they knew each other better than anyone, Potocki couldn't afford to fall behind—and so here they were, lining up.
"We can't speak for Prussia or Russia, but Austria can preserve much of your current privileges. That said, we can't leave the Sejm as it is, where nothing passes without unanimity. Postwar measures demand speed, and clinging to consensus would paralyze everything."
"That... but..."
Poland's noble parliament, the Sejm, operated on unanimity: a single dissenting vote killed any bill.
This was the Liberum Veto, their most iconic weapon symbolizing noble power.
Of course, in functional states, such powers existed on paper but weren't abused—like Britain's monarch dissolving Parliament.
But Polish nobles threw vetoes whenever the mood struck. Of the last six Sejms, three collapsed on day one from vetoes.
Expecting to keep that privilege? Pure delusion.
Fortunately, Potocki lacked loyalty to the state but not basic intelligence.
"Unanimity... lacks realism, true. But please preserve our authority in some form..."
"Nothing's finalized, but I'm envisioning an aristocratic oligarchy. Poland is a nobles' republic, after all. I have no desire to strip your identity."
"Pardon? Won't it be annexed into Austrian territory?"
"His Majesty's policy prioritizes local sentiments."
Revamp into a noble-led oligarchy without a king, in exchange for ditching the unlimited veto.
A perfectly reasonable deal, no?
Józef Potocki, gears turning, asked cautiously.
"An oligarchy would need a figurehead to lead the nobles... Have you someone in mind?"
"Several candidates, but the top choice should be a great noble with friendly ties to Austria and prestige in Poland-Lithuania. Say..."
I smirked at him, and Józef's mouth twitched.
Those who'd always leaned our way would be easier to handle than the pro-Russian crowd.
An obvious pick, really.
"Your Highness, what must I do?"
"Barring total war with Russia—which would smash them—no single power can swallow all of Poland and Lithuania. With Prussia in play, it'll be a three-way partition."
"Three-way... Understood. Shall I rally as many nobles as possible to Austria's side?"
"Top priority: Bratslav, Podolia, and the Ukrainian regions."
"The granary lands. Our family's base is there anyway—no problem. Leave it to us!"
Exactly. We'd backed the Potockis precisely because their stronghold was right-bank Ukraine—the Black Soil Region—with the largest holdings there.
The term "Black Soil Region" wasn't widespread yet, but in Poland, many still called it ziemja czarna, black earth.
Compared to central Poland, it yielded nearly double the harvest, supplying over 40% of Poland's grain exports.
Poland-Lithuania controlled about 30% of the total black soil area.
Secure that, sign a treaty prioritizing grain exports to Austria, and we'd achieve food self-sufficiency.
What Prussia or Russia carved up next? Not our problem.
Fewer mouths to feed meant pure gain.
Maximum profit with minimal effort.
I'd already briefed the Potockis on the plan.
Now, let them prove their worth in true Polish noble fashion.
Russia to the east, Prussia to the west, Austria to the south.
No way out, boxed in on all sides.
Many Polish-Lithuanian nobles had already written off the country and were plotting their exit strategies.
Northeast Lithuania had swung to Russia; plenty in western Poland had crawled under Friedrich's banner.
"But our task isn't mere submission to foreign tyrants—it's preserving the dignity of us nobles!"
Józef Potocki, uncharacteristically channeling a patriot, raised his voice.
Of course, everyone knew his "dignity" meant filling his pockets, not some lofty ideal.
"You've had deep talks with Austria's King of Germany? Any progress?"
"Good news and bad. Which first?"
"Bad first."
"Very well. No more Liberum Veto for us. And this country will be torn into three."
"Damn, that makes me want to curse. So what's the good?"
"Those joining Austria get an aristocratic oligarchy."
Lubomirski, the first Potocki had approached, blinked.
"...So we join them too?"
"Yes. The top seat rotates anyway—great nobles take turns feasting."
"Tempting offer."
"Branicki, Radziwiłł, and Sapieha are already on board. Your signature completes the set."
"Things moved that fast?"
A white lie, of course. I'd tell the others the same, making it true in the end.
Just a matter of timing—they'd unite as one soon enough. A noble fib for solidarity.
"But if we break away alone, won't Russia sit idle?"
"They'll grab their share too—what can they do? Once we're under the Holy Roman Empire, Russia won't touch us. Touching a Roman vassal means war."
"Agreed. We're in. But declaring independence outright invites trouble—any plan?"
"Use the confederate Sejm system. Stay within legal bounds for plausible deniability."
Even with absolute Liberum Veto, emergencies allowed majority rule via confederate Sejm—a precedent from 20 and 40 years ago.
But calling one explicitly for partition was too blatant; they needed a smokescreen sacrifice.
And Franz Stefan had obligingly provided a perfect pretext.
"We'll depose Elector Augustus III of Saxony from the Polish throne on charges of causing this national emergency."
The other nobles would cheer that one right up.
Without suspecting what came next.
"Fine. Better Austrian vassal nobles than Russian converts turned thugs."
Amid foreign armies ravaging the land, the great nobles controlling Poland-Lithuania's vast Black Soil Region casually struck their deal.
They'd run the place like private fiefdoms forever anyway—no need for guilty consciences.
No mental gymnastics or rationalizations—they truly believed it.