To the German and Austrian the Csech presents a comic type. But no one looks upon the Pole as comic; you hate him or you love him, but you cannot ridicule him—there is something great and tragic about him. The Russians who hate him for _political_ reasons are fired by religious fanaticism. They hate the Jesuitical principles of the Pole. The Germans hate the Polish want of management, and “Polnische Wirtschaft” (“Polish management”) is a German idiom. But no one would insult Polish idealism and the innate nobility of the Pole. He compares with the Csech as Don Quixote with Sancho Panza. He is a dreamer and visionary who prostrates himself before an invisible shrine and awaits the miracle of salvation and liberation. This life of dreams has endowed the modern Pole with hyper-sensitive nerves, dogmatic onesidedness, and extreme passivity. Lost in the contemplation of their royal past, the Polish people wait in breathless silence for the first bird-note to herald the dawn of freedom that shall dispel the night of tribulation. But, while the conscience of the nation languishes, crucified in the bitter suffering of a Messianic ideal, the Masses—the common people—are sane and sturdy; they live and multiply far removed from the griefs of the Classes. Their hard life has made them dull and unfeeling; caught in a world of factories, mines, and social democracy, they are only interested in their own immediate concerns and personal pleasures. Anything beyond that they expect from the mediation of “Bogarodjitza” (Mother of God). Wijspianski, a fine Polish dramatist, has strikingly sketched the national character in one single scene in his play “Wesele” (The Wedding). The people are dancing their Polonaise and Mazurka, with gay cockades and ribands on their shoulders. The pretty bride leads off with her herculean bridegroom. Suddenly Yasiek rushes in upon the dancers and cries, “To arms! rise and rebel, for Poland!” But the couples—as if bewitched—continue to dance the _national_ measure. Yasiek, bitterly disappointed, sees his hopes blighted and, choked with despair, he sinks to the ground. But the couples go on dancing, and he is _trampled to death_ by the feet of those whom he came to lead to freedom. This scene epitomises the position of affairs in modern Poland—the despair of the great lord with his pedigree, broad acres, and capital, who has absolutely no hold over the plain people because they have turned away from him. They have lost their rights, their land and their traditions; the only link between the two is the Catholic ideal, the ideal of _Polish_ Catholicism, which is hallowed in the image of Our Lady of Csenstochova, whose brow is encircled with the crown of the ancient Queens of Poland. The younger generation in Poland has realized that this link between the Classes and Masses must rest on a surer foundation.