Chapter 600: Song of Poland, Part Five
Through Stanisław II's prior arrangements, the news of his audience with the Tsar immediately dominated the headlines of major Petersburg newspapers that day. Many papers even published his sycophantic speech in full.
Petersburg erupted in joy. Although the Russians had always considered Poland their subordinate, the feeling of the Polish King personally coming to display such extreme humility was entirely different.
Catherine II was clearly very satisfied with Stanisław II's attitude, praising him highly and hosting a lavish banquet in his honor.
However, the rather refined young man by the Tsar's side watched the Polish King warily. Each time the latter drew a little closer to Catherine II, he would find various ways to interpose himself between them.
Stanisław II, in turn, was very polite to him, even presenting him with many valuable gifts.
The Polish King knew that this man was the greatest obstacle to his mission: Platon Zubov, Catherine II's current favorite.
He showed great patience, paying formal respects to the Tsar every day and only discussing matters of state. The content primarily revolved around Poland's precarious situation and how it was more loyal to Russia than ever before.
Four days later, Stanisław II finally got the opportunity he had been waiting for.
He accepted the Tsar's invitation to a hunt and stayed overnight in the hunting lodge that evening.
Stanisław II immediately gestured to his attendant, took the Scottish bagpipe handed to him, and began to play from over 30 meters away from the balcony.
A melody, deeply emotional yet tinged with melancholy, floated into the night sky. It was none other than "My Heart Will Go On," the theme song from the later film "Titanic."
Catherine II was immediately captivated by the soulful sound of the bagpipes. Leaning out to look, she saw a man's solitary figure leaning against a pine tree, exuding an aura of melancholy and desolation.
After finishing the prelude, he switched to a cello and began to play and sing:
"Every night in my dreams,
I see you, I feel you.
That is how I know your heart still..."
Stanisław II had quite a good singing voice; after all, any man who caught the Tsar's eye had to possess some talent.
The lyrics had been adapted into French by Joseph, largely retaining the essence of the English version.
Catherine II was immediately drawn in by the heartfelt singing. As the first verse concluded and the instrumental break began, she immediately turned to her servant and said, "Is that... Stasi?"
Without realizing it, she seemed to travel back to those times over twenty years ago, and instinctively uttered Stanisław's nickname.
The servant hastily bowed and replied, "Yes, Your Majesty, that is indeed His Majesty Stanisław II."
After the song concluded, her ears still resonated with the poignant and beautiful melody. Her gaze was somewhat distant as she raised a hand and said, "Send him here."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The next day.
Platon Zubov awoke from his deep sleep, only to find the Tsar absent from his side.
He hastily donned his clothes and went to the sitting room, where he saw Catherine II admiring an oil painting. Beside her was the artist, the renowned Russian painter Fyodor Stepanovich Rokotov.
The painting depicted Stanisław II bowing humbly, while the Tsar stood on the high steps before the Winter Palace, flanked by hundreds of Russian nobles, exuding an unmatched grandeur.
It was precisely the scene from the Polish King's audience on his first day.
Naturally, Stanisław II had paid Rokotov a hefty sum to paint it.
Catherine II looked at the painting with satisfaction. She instructed her attendant, "Hang it in the music hall once we return."
It wasn't because Stanisław II was in the painting, but because it showcased the majesty of the Russian Tsar and Poland's subservient posture.
The following evening, Stanisław II "chanced upon" Catherine in the corridor again.
The latter sent Zubov away and then listened as her Stasi played "Let It Be Me" for her.
"I bless the day I found you,
I want to stay with you..."
This song, more direct and emotionally potent than the one from the previous night, once again plunged Catherine II into recollections of the past.
After a long moment, she looked at Stasi. "You never showed such excellent talent for composition before."
"I still don't compose, Your Majesty," he replied. "I merely recalled the sentiments in my heart."
Catherine II smiled. She did not return to Zubov's room but instead had a long, intimate conversation with Stasi by the fireplace, and listened as he played "My Heart Will Go On" several more times, her face alight with memories.
Stanisław II had not expected things to progress so smoothly.
His Royal Highness the Crown Prince had prepared no fewer than seven incredibly romantic songs for him, each one profoundly moving, a masterpiece worthy of being passed down through generations.
Yet he had succeeded using only the second song.
After that, although Catherine II still exclusively favored Zubov—after all, a man in his fifties couldn't quite rival the fresh appeal of a twenty-something—
Every now and then she would summon Stasi to listen to him play those moving melodies, reliving their romantic times of yesteryear together.
Indeed, older charms possessed their own distinct flavor, sometimes even more satisfying than youthful ones.
Thus, Stanisław II shamelessly settled into the Winter Palace.
...
Warsaw.
In the great hall of the Tin-Roofed Palace, Prince Poniatowski looked up, surveying the assembled people before him, and, shuffling the papers in his hand, announced:
"So, regarding the establishment of Catholicism as the state religion, I presume none of you have any objections?"
He had recently, with Father Sais, meticulously reviewed the articles of the constitution.
Father Sais, utilizing his political acumen far beyond that of ordinary men, had helped him to the greatest extent possible to eliminate any content that might destabilize the situation.
Concurrently, he had helped him map out Poland's political power distribution and devised a plan to unite all political forces.
The representative of the Patriotic Party pursed his lips but said nothing.
Among the amended articles the Prince had just read aloud, although Catholicism would become the state religion, the constitution would not require citizens to convert to Catholicism. Protestantism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and even Islam would all be permitted.
Due to this clause concerning the state religion, the Roman Curia had already pledged 250,000 scudos in aid to Poland, equivalent to approximately 1.1 million Francs.
For the notoriously parsimonious Curia, this was undeniably a substantial sum. It was a clear indication of how pleased the Holy See was with Poland's potential return as the "Spear of God."
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