Anonymous - Pauline

"And his costume?” I asked, smiling.

Instead of answering this directly, he reached over and patted my hand in an affectionate manner, then: “You do not seem to understand our emperor, my dear. We have at the moment the Russian Ballet, consisting of sixty members; an act consisting of fifteen persons; a comedy act consisting of six more, and they all perform in the nude. Does that shock you, my dear?"

I laughed. “Pardon me,” I said. “I wasn't laughing at that; I was just thinking how strange I would look wearing a costume, when the others perform stark naked. I would be out of place."

"Then it's agreed?” he asked, leaning across the table.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Is one in the habit of denying your emperor?"

He seemed to take this question as acceptance.

The Duc, I mention here, was a Frenchman, his close connection with the nobility having been brought about by his willingness and eagerness to seek out and provide the most startling entertainment for the court. Knowing the vast hordes of beautiful women about the palace were nothing more or less than whores who, like the emperor and his right-hand man, the Duc, were more than willing to do their part toward assisting in the scandal forever creeping out to a suffering public, I became more bold. I said, “I would prefer not to attend alone. You have no objection to my lover escorting me to and from the palace?” This was part suggestion and part question.

He pouted, inclining his head. “Is it necessary?” he asked. “You are expected to assist in the private entertainment for our emperor, after your formal appearance, and-well, wouldn't the presence of your lover, as you prefer to refer to him, be somewhat uncomfortable?"

Such, my friend, was the state of affairs one found within the “circle” during those days.

Without going further into the details of the whole affair, let me close this part of the history by saying that I attended the “party” in honor of the emperor, and that two days afterward, Ferry and I made a timely exit from the fashionable city, to the great disappointment of the entire court.

We had intended on spending a few more days there, but, as I have said, we thought it best to leave. It wasn't that I objected to the attention paid me; it was because I knew it hurt Ferry.

And because there are other things to relate, events of far greater importance to tell you, let us skip all this and take up the thread of the story as to what happened a few days later.

We crossed the border into Serbia, and while the court here was no less impure than that of Austria, there was far less scandal and gossip.

Wishing to be alone for a change, we took a charming villa in a quiet section of the city. Close to the river Danube, we found it a delightful spot, and here we spent several weeks, and they were, I believe, the most pleasant I had ever experienced.

We journeyed into Bulgaria, stopping here and there, enjoying the country and its restful climate. But now Ferry became restless. Something was on his mind. “I'm worried,” he said in answer to my questions. “Today I saw an agent connected with the secret police of the Austrian government."

"But what shall we do?” I asked, now a little worried. We had done nothing to arouse the dislike of these people. I expressed my thoughts to Ferry. “You don't understand,” he said. “It is not what we have done; it's what you haven't done."

"Me?” I asked, surprised.

"Yes,” he answered. “Yon don't know it my dear, but our friend, the emperor, was disappointed with your sudden departure from the summer palace, and he's not one to be brooked in his desires. Tomorrow we leave for Rumania. I have friends there."

That night, lying in each other's arms, we talked of all this.

He told me of a wonderful people he had met in the mountains and how I would love them. They were Gypsies, he said, and though they were known outlaws and were almost constantly sought by the police, they were a friendly, kind, and generous people. He had met them while busily engaged in writing a book, and though he had been held somewhat apart from the group, one day he rescued the young son of one of the chiefs of the tribe, and as a result, he had been accepted as a “blood brother” and was always welcome. “Besides,” he said, holding me close and kissing passionately my lips and eyes, “you will find them the greatest lovers in the world."

I laughed. “And what would I do with lovers?” I asked. “Haven't I you? And did I not run away from wealth and royalty so that you alone would possess me?"

"And didn't you give me Rose?” he countered. “Did you not allow me to satisfy my desires between her snowy thighs, just to make me happy? Oh, no, dear, it is my turn now. Once we get into the mountain fastness of these people and are conducted to their camp, I want you to indulge yourself to your heart's content."

Then he gave me a detailed description of their mode of living; their habits and loves; how they lived and openly practiced free love; and how I would be expected to adapt to their methods of living. He told me they were the most beautiful people on earth; how, contrary to popular belief, they practiced sanitation in all its phases; and how upon entering their fastness one must sacrifice himself, or herself, to some member of the opposite sex, as this was the only manner in which they could be positive of one's loyalty to them.

Strangely enough, I began looking forward to visiting these people. There was a certain amount of hardship one must endure before entering their fastness, he said, but after that, it was the nearest approach to heaven he had ever known.

And so I found myself eager to get under way; something about the whole affair interested me. I cared nothing for the so-called hardship. He did not say what this entailed, so I paid it little mind.

Three day's travel by cart and stage brought us close to the river Danube, an area that is famous for its delightful climate. Safe in Rumania at last, we felt more secure. We had shaken off the police-forever, I hoped.

Two days travel by the most primitive carts brought us far into the mountains, and here our drivers refused to go further. They shook their heads and gazed off toward the distant hills; nothing we could offer would entice them further.

"We will leave our baggage here,” Ferry said, “and take with us only the clothing we are wearing. Come."

We made our way on foot. I had faith in Ferry; I knew he would never sanction this trip were there any possible danger connected with it, and since I had agreed to do and say everything he suggested, I followed him up the steep paths through the dense wood. We had started early that morning, and it was mid afternoon when we were suddenly confronted by what I believed to be the most bloodthirsty creature I ever had the misfortune to meet.

He came forward and I had the opportunity to study the man.

Large and slightly darker than I had expected, he had black, curly hair beneath a wide leather hat, and great gold rings in his ears. He had a wicked cast to one eye. Overall, he was the most murderous-looking person I had ever seen.

"Be not afraid,” reassured Ferry. “He is but one of the guards, and as soon as he learns our business here, we will be conducted further into the wood where we will meet an escort who will take us directly into their camp."

The brute-for that's what he looked like to me-asked many questions, and finally, having been convinced that we were not police, he conducted us along the path to a clearing in the dense forest. Directing us along, he pointed out the path we must follow. Without warning, we came to a bend in the wooded path and here, directly before us, was a stream.

Ferry saw the look of mystery in my eyes. Laughingly, he said, “This is the first hardship I referred to,” and nodded toward the water. “We have got to cross it."