Dawn revealed on a field of honor near Budapest last week two duelists, a Hungarian cavalry officer and an Italian count, who faced each other with sharp swords because of a U. S. Negro danseuse from Harlem, famed Josephine Baker (TIME, July 4). A year ago La Baker was the tawny, chocolate toast of jaded Parisian boulevardiers. Later in Vienna her dances—by turns sinuously seductive and jazz-mad—created a sensation so profound that a socialist deputation petitioned the Austrian Government to "prevent the nude, brazenfaced and heathen dances of Fraulein Josephine Baker from taking place anywhere in Austria" (TIME, Feb. 13).
Though the petition was unsuccessful, La Baker has since progressed from Vienna down the Danube to Budapest. There she has developed a penchant for riding through the stately boulevards of the Hungarian capital in a small, trig carriage drawn by an ostrich. Naturally many a Hungarian dandy and fop has ogled Negress Baker through his characteristic, heavy-lensed monocle. . . .
Last week the ogling and attentions of Hungarian Cavalry Captain Andrew Czlovoydi became too fervently gallant to be stomached by La Baker's manager, Count Pepito di Albertini, an Italian of doubtful nobility whom tawny Josephine Baker once positively declared to be her husband, a statement she later denied. Therefore, last week, the proprietary Count challenged the ogling Captain.
For their field of honor the duelists chose appropriately a cemetery. There, seated on a tombstone, La Baker screamed Afric encouragement to her Count, last week, while he bravely parried for ten minutes the shrewd sword thrusts of Captain Czlovoydi. When the Cavalryman at last slightly pinked the Count on the shoulder, Negress Baker flung herself hysterically between the duelists, and shrieked her loudest, until the seconds hastily agreed that honor had been satisfied and the duel was at an end.