On the 4th of March, St. Casimir’s Eve, there was a banquet at Court to which I had the honour to be invited.  Casimir was the name of the king’s eldest brother, who held the office of grand chamberlain.  After dinner the king asked me if I intended going to the theatre, where a Polish play was to be given for the first time.  Everybody was interested in this novelty, but it was a matter of indifference to me as I did not understand the language, and I told the king as much.

“Never mind,” said he, “come in my box.”

This was too flattering an invitation to be refused, so I obeyed the royal command and stood behind the king’s chair.  After the second act a ballet was given, and the dancing of Madame Caracci, a Piedmontese, so pleased his majesty that he went to the unusual pains of clapping her.

I only knew the dancer by sight, for I had never spoken to her.  She had some talents.  Her principal admirer was Count Poninski, who was always reproaching me when I dined with him for visiting the other dancers to the exclusion of Madame Caracci.  I thought of his reproach at the time, and determined to pay her a visit after the ballet to congratulate her on her performance and the king’s applause.  On my way I passed by Madame Binetti’s dressing-room, and seeing the door open I stayed a moment.  Count Branicki came up, and I left with a bow and passed on to Madame Caracci’s dressing-room.  She was astonished to see me, and began with kindly reproaches for my neglect; to which I replied with compliments, and then giving her a kiss I promised to come and see her.

Just as I embraced her who should enter but Branicki, whom I had left a moment before with Madame Binetti.  He had clearly followed me in the hopes of picking a quarrel.  He was accompanied by Bininski, his lieutenant-colonel.  As soon as he appeared, politeness made me stand up and turn to go, but he stopped me.

“It seems to me I have come at a bad time; it looks as if you loved this lady.”

“Certainly, my lord; does not your excellency consider her as worthy of love?”

“Quite so; but as it happens I love her too, and I am not the man to bear any rivals.”

“As I know that, I shall love her no more.”

“Then you give her up?”

“With all my heart; for everyone must yield to such a noble as you are.”

“Very good; but I call a man that yields a coward.”

“Isn’t that rather a strong expression?”

As I uttered these words I looked proudly at him and touched the hilt of my sword.  Three or four officers were present and witnessed what passed.

I had hardly gone four paces from the dressing-room when I heard myself called “Venetian coward.”  In spite of my rage I restrained myself, and turned back saying, coolly and firmly, that perhaps a Venetian coward might kill a brave Pole outside the theatre; and without awaiting a reply I left the building by the chief staircase.