The War Court and Lap Pillow, Austria's Mandate of Heaven

Chapter 1209 Old friends meet
Due to the ice age, news from St. Petersburg seemed to travel particularly slowly.
The Polish Governor-General at that time, Wimberowski, was a romantic poet-general. When he first took office, he did not have a good impression of Warsaw, where the plague was rampant and people's livelihood was in decline.

But Poland has a profound cultural heritage after all, and it is also closer to the core area of ​​Europe. Culture and art blend here, and commerce and trade are carried out here. Its prosperity is simply incomparable to those bitter and cold places in Russia.

Soon Venbetrovsky fell in love with this city. In addition to his love for culture and art, he was also attracted by money and beautiful women.

It is not a fantasy to hold the power of the world when awake and to lie on the lap of a beautiful woman when drunk. As the Governor-General of Poland, he has great power, and he can decide life and death. Here he is the Tsar.

Wilanów Palace is known as the Polish Versailles.

The first ray of sunlight in the early morning shone through the veil onto the man's face. Venbetrovsky casually pushed away his mistress who was sleeping soundly on him, got off the couch, came to the desk, and poured himself a glass of bull's blood.

The bright red wine was as charming as blood, the sweet and refreshing taste flowed down his throat. He let out a long breath and looked at the empty wine glass in a daze.

(Bull's Blood, a type of wine, can be considered the Red Bull of the 19th century. They are both national brands.)
At this moment, a gentle and pleasant voice, like a lark in the early morning, sounded.

"My Lord, do you want to bathe first or eat first?"

Venbetrovsky did not answer, but took off his gold-thread nightgown, threw it to the slim maid, and pushed open the door of the room.

The maid seemed to be used to it. She took the robe swiftly, folded it quickly, and then walked out of the room quickly.

"My Lord, we need to have breakfast in the bathroom. Please prepare it immediately!"

The entire palace began to get busy, and when Venbetrovsky walked into the room, the huge "Hammann" was already filled with mist.

More than a dozen maids in silk clothes had been waiting for a long time. Their thin clothes were wet by the steam, revealing their plump, delicate, or petite figures.

"Ave, sir."

(Ave, Latin, means welcome, and also means respect.)
Without even looking, Venbetrovsky walked straight towards the bath. The maids carefully made way for him. When the governor leaned lazily against the marble edge, the maids came in with cheese, grapes, bananas, lamb, caviar and other delicacies.

Trays filled with various delicacies were floating on the water. Venbetrovsky casually pointed to a plate of grapes, and a maid immediately went into the water and put the peeled grapes into his mouth.

Although it is just a small grape, it is not easy to eat it in this cold winter. Since there is no freezer, ice cubes can only be used to cool it down.

The most crucial thing is that these grapes need to be transported from tropical regions, and at that time only the Austrian Empire could quickly transport goods from the coast to the inland.

The grapes will be loaded onto trains from Venice to Lviv, then transported to the Russian-Austrian border by the fastest horse-drawn carriages, and then sent to Warsaw. This tiny grape is more expensive than the same weight of silver.

(A hammam is a Turkish bath, which was very popular in Europe in the 18th and 19th centuries.)
Wenbetrovsky was very satisfied with his current life. He pulled out a document from an oil-paper bag, took a casual look at it, and was shocked. He stood up and ran to the office in a hurry.

It was just that Venpetrovsky was unlucky and unfortunately slipped and fell on the way.
Spring had not yet arrived, and most of Russian Poland was still covered in snow and ice. But people were walking hurriedly through the streets of Lodz in the snow and wind, which was a little unreasonable, but no one cared.

Inside the Cathedral of the Holy Angels, Father Alexander was presiding over a prayer ceremony. The old church was packed with people, and the heavy breathing made people feel a little warm.

But there are still children crying with hunger. This is the industrial center of Russian Poland, which brings countless wealth and goods to Russia every year. But the life of the Poles here is no different from that in other areas of Russian Poland.

The young mother's shriveled chest had no milk at all, so she could only hold the skinny baby tighter to her chest. The child seemed to be comforted by the sound of his mother's heartbeat.

At this time, Father Alexander came over, looked at the child, and then looked at the young mother. He did not ask why, because he had heard too much in the confessional.

Father Alexander brought a bottle of warm milk and a piece of black bread, then tore off the cross on his chest. "Child, this is for you."

"But Father, this..."

The young mother hastily declined, but Father Alexander spoke firmly and handed the cross to the mother.

"You need it more than I do. God will forgive us. Amen."

The young mother did not refuse anymore, but immediately hid it carefully for fear that it would be taken away.

In fact, everyone around was somewhat jealous, but Father Alexander held an extremely high status in this small parish, and no one wanted to offend the public at this time.

Suddenly, the door of the church was opened, and the cold wind rushed in, attracting everyone's attention. The person who opened the door was a young man, who was also pale and thin, and shivering, but his voice rang like thunder in everyone's ears.

"Father! It's bad! The Russian government requires us Poles to convert to Orthodoxy!"

Father Alexander's heart was shaken so much that he took two steps back unconsciously, and the Bible in his hand almost fell to the ground.

"How can it be!"

"The Russians can't do this to us!"

"Those Russian officials must have deceived His Majesty the Tsar!"

"Yes! We must let His Majesty the Tsar know our grievances! We can't let those officials do whatever they want!"

The church suddenly fell into chaos, but most Poles still subconsciously believed that it was the Russian officials who were causing trouble.

With the help of several townspeople, Father Alexander finally sat down in front of the pulpit.

"Don't panic or make a fuss. Go home first. God will protect us."

After the priest said this, the townspeople did not continue to make trouble or go to the streets to argue with the Russians, but they did not seem to have any intention of leaving.

Father Alexander immediately realized the problem and quickly spoke to the deacon.

"Pass out Holy Communion. Give out lots of it."

After calming the townspeople, Father Alexander walked towards the back hall of the church.

"How long are you going to pretend to be a good person? You Polish traitor, you running dog of the Austrians."

A cold voice came from the shadows. Father Alexander was stunned for a moment, and then the kindness in his eyes immediately disappeared. It seemed that even his old figure became upright.

"Landre Promi! If it weren't for your ambition, how could we have failed?
Is this another good deed you did? Are you unwilling to let go of Poland, a nation that has suffered so much?"

(End of this chapter)