Here I must set down an event which took place towards the end of January.  It was, in fact, a dream; and, as I think I have confessed before, superstition had always some hold on me.

I dreamt I was at a banquet, and one of the guests threw a bottle at my face, that the blood poured forth, that I ran my sword through my enemy’s body, and jumped into a carriage, and rode away.

Prince Charles of Courland came to Warsaw, and asked me to dine with him at Prince Poninski’s, the same that became so notorious, and was afterwards proscribed and shamefully dishonoured.  His was a hospitable house, and he was surrounded by his agreeable family.  I had never called on him, as he was not a ‘persona grata’ to the king or his relations.

In the course of the dinner a bottle of champagne burst, and a piece of broken glass struck me just below the eye.  It cut a vein, and the blood gushed over my face, over my clothes, and even over the cloth.  Everybody rose, my wound was bound up, the cloth was changed, and the dinner went on merrily.  I was surprised at the likeness between my dream and this incident, while I congratulated myself on the happy difference between them.  However, it all came true after a few months.

Madame Binetti, whom I had last seen in London, arrived at Warsaw with her husband and Pic the dancer.  She had a letter of introduction to the king’s brother, who was a general in the Austrian service, and then resided at Warsaw.  I heard that the day they came, when I was at supper at the palatin’s.  The king was present, and said he should like to keep them in Warsaw for a week and see them dance, if a thousand ducats could do it.

I went to see Madame Binetti and to give her the good news the next morning.  She was very much surprised to meet me in Warsaw, and still more so at the news I gave her.  She called Pic who seemed undecided, but as we were talking it over, Prince Poniatowski came in to acquaint them with his majesty’s wishes, and the offer was accepted.  In three days Pic arranged a ballet; the costumes, the scenery, the music, the dancers—­all were ready, and Tomatis put it on handsomely to please his generous master.  The couple gave such satisfaction that they were engaged for a year.  The Catai was furious, as Madame Binetti threw her completely into the shade, and, worse still, drew away her lovers.  Tomatis, who was under the Catai’s influence, made things so unpleasant for Madame Binetti that the two dancers became deadly enemies.

In ten or twelve days Madame Binetti was settled it a well-furnished house; her plate was simple but good, her cellar full of excellent wine, her cook an artist and her adorers numerous, amongst them being Moszciuski and Branicki, the king’s friends.