After the French campaign and the Treaty of Vienna, Constantine was made Viceroy of Poland. It was just the post for him. Here, placed at the head of a warlike nation, whose whole history is one long struggle, his military tastes grew with redoubled energy; unfortunately, he substituted lawless encounters for the bloody struggles in which he had just taken part. Summer or winter--whether living in the palace of Bruhl or residing in the palace of Belvédère--he was up and equipped in his general's uniform by three in the morning, without the assistance in his toilet of any valet. He would then seat himself before a table covered with regimental lists and military orders, in a room wherein every single panel on the walls was painted with different regimental costumes; he read the reports that had been drawn up the day before, either by Colonel Axamilovisky or by Suboividsky, the Prefect of Police, signifying his approval or disapproval of them in a side note. With the exception of letter-writing to some members of his family, these were the only occasions he handled a pen. This work generally took him until nine in the morning, when he partook of the hasty breakfast of a soldier. He then went down to the parade ground to inspect a couple of regiments of infantry or a squadron of cavalry. The band saluted him as he approached, and the review immediately began. The platoons marched past the viceroy, a little way off, with mathematical precision--a sight that always filled him with childish joy, and moved him as much as though the men were marching to a real battle. He would stand on foot watching them pass by, attired in the green uniform of the Light Infantry, his cap, which was decorated with cocks' feathers, posed on his head in such a manner that one of the corners touched his left epaulette, whilst the other pointed heavenwards at an alarming angle. Below shone, like two carbuncles, eyes that seemed more like a jackal's than those of a human being, set below a narrow forehead, which was furrowed with deep lines, indicating constant and anxious preoccupation; and his thick long eyebrows were crooked from habitual frowning. In his moments of extreme happiness, the strange vivaciousness of the czarovitch's expression, coupled with the snub nose that looked like a skeleton's, and his protruding lower lip, gave a very savage appearance to his head. His neck, which he could push out and withdraw at will, came in and out of his collar just like a tortoise's from below its shell. As he listened to the music and saw the men he had trained and heard the measured tramp of their feet, his whole being expanded with delight, until he looked feverish with excitement: the flush would come into his cheeks, his arms would stiffen against his body down to his elbows, his rigid, tightly clasped fists would nervously open and close, while his restless feet beat time, and his guttural voice every now and then, between his harshly uttered commands, would give vent to hoarse, raucous, inhuman cries, expressive, alternately, of satisfaction or anger, according as matters pleased him or he saw something that offended his sense of discipline. For, indeed, his anger was a terrible sight, and his good humour was that of a rough savage.