The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

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THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE

(Los Cuatro Jinettes del Apocalipsis)

by Vicente Blasco Ibanez


Translated by Charlotte Brewster Jordan



CONTENTS

PART I

I. THE TRYST--IN THE GARDEN OF THE EXPIATORY CHAPEL
II. MADARIAGA, THE CENTAUR
III. THE DESNOYERS FAMILY
IV. THE COUSIN FROM BERLIN
V. IN WHICH APPEAR THE FOUR HORSEMEN


PART II

I. WHAT DON MARCELO ENVIED
II. NEW LIFE
III. THE RETREAT
IV. NEAR THE SACRED GROTTO
V. THE INVASION
VI. THE BANNER OF THE RED CROSS


PART III

I. AFTER THE MARNE
II. IN THE STUDIO
IV. "NO ONE WILL KILL HIM"
V. THE BURIAL FIELDS





PART I



CHAPTER I

THE TRYST

(In the Garden of the Chapelle Expiatoire)


They were to have met in the garden of the Chapelle Expiatoire at five
o'clock in the afternoon, but Julio Desnoyers with the impatience of a
lover who hopes to advance the moment of meeting by presenting himself
before the appointed time, arrived an half hour earlier. The change of
the seasons was at this time greatly confused in his mind, and evidently
demanded some readjustment.

Five months had passed since their last interview in this square had
afforded the wandering lovers the refuge of a damp, depressing calmness
near a boulevard of continual movement close to a great railroad
station. The hour of the appointment was always five and Julio was
accustomed to see his beloved approaching by the reflection of the
recently lit street lamps, her figure enveloped in furs, and holding
her muff before her face as if it were a half-mask. Her sweet voice,
greeting him, had breathed forth a cloud of vapor, white and tenuous,
congealed by the cold. After various hesitating interviews, they had
abandoned the garden. Their love had acquired the majestic importance of
acknowledged fact, and from five to seven had taken refuge in the fifth
floor of the rue de la Pompe where Julio had an artist's studio. The
curtains well drawn over the double glass windows, the cosy hearth-fire
sending forth its ruddy flame as the only light of the room, the
monotonous song of the samovar bubbling near the cups of tea--all
the seclusion of life isolated by an idolizing love--had dulled their
perceptions to the fact that the afternoons were growing longer, that
outside the sun was shining later and later into the pearl-covered
depths of the clouds, and that a timid and pallid Spring was beginning
to show its green finger tips in the buds of the branches suffering the
last nips of Winter--that wild, black boar who so often turned on his
tracks.

Then Julio had made his trip to Buenos Aires, encountering in the other
hemisphere the last smile of Autumn and the first icy winds from the
pampas. And just as his mind was becoming reconciled to the fact that
for him Winter was an eternal season--since it always came to meet
him in his change of domicile from one extreme of the planet to the
other--lo, Summer was unexpectedly confronting him in this dreary
garden!

A swarm of children was racing and screaming through the short avenues
around the monument. On entering the place, the first thing that Julio
encountered was a hoop which came rolling toward his legs, trundled by
a childish hand. Then he stumbled over a ball. Around the chestnut
trees was gathering the usual warm-weather crowd, seeking the blue shade
perforated with points of light. Many nurse-maids from the neighboring
houses were working and chattering here, following with indifferent
glances the rough games of the children confided to their care. Near
them were the men who had brought their papers down into the garden
under the impression that they could read them in the midst of peaceful
groves. All of the benches were full. A few women were occupying camp
stools with that feeling of superiority which ownership always confers.
The iron chairs, "pay-seats," were serving as resting places for
various suburban dames, loaded down with packages, who were waiting for
straggling members of their families in order to take the train in the
Gare Saint Lazare. . . .

And Julio, in his special delivery letter, had proposed meeting in this
place, supposing that it would be as little frequented as in former
times. She, too, with the same thoughtlessness, had in her reply, set
the usual hour of five o'clock, believing that after passing a few
minutes in the Printemps or the Galeries on the pretext of shopping, she
would be able to slip over to the unfrequented garden without risk of
being seen by any of her numerous acquaintances.

Desnoyers was enjoying an almost forgotten sensation, that of strolling
through vast spaces, crushing as he walked the grains of sand under
his feet. For the past twenty days his rovings had been upon planks,
following with the automatic precision of a riding school the oval
promenade on the deck of a ship. His feet accustomed to insecure
ground, still were keeping on terra firma a certain sensation of elastic
unsteadiness. His goings and comings were not awakening the curiosity of
the people seated in the open, for a common preoccupation seemed to
be monopolizing all the men and women. The groups were exchanging
impressions. Those who happened to have a paper in their hands, saw
their neighbors approaching them with a smile of interrogation. There
had suddenly disappeared that distrust and suspicion which impels the
inhabitants of large cities mutually to ignore one another, taking each
other's measure at a glance as though they were enemies.

"They are talking about the war," said Desnoyers to himself. "At this
time, all Paris speaks of nothing but the possibility of war."

Outside of the garden he could see also the same anxiety which was
making those around him so fraternal and sociable. The venders of
newspapers were passing through the boulevard crying the evening
editions, their furious speed repeatedly slackened by the eager hands
of the passers-by contending for the papers. Every reader was instantly
surrounded by a group begging for news or trying to decipher over his
shoulder the great headlines at the top of the sheet. In the rue des
Mathurins, on the other side of the square, a circle of workmen under
the awning of a tavern were listening to the comments of a friend who
accompanied his words with oratorical gestures and wavings of the paper.
The traffic in the streets, the general bustle of the city was the same
as in other days, but it seemed to Julio that the vehicles were whirling
past more rapidly, that there was a feverish agitation in the air and
that people were speaking and smiling in a different way. The women of
the garden were looking even at him as if they had seen him in former
days. He was able to approach them and begin a conversation without
experiencing the slightest strangeness.

"They are talking of the war," he said again but with the commiseration
of a superior intelligence which foresees the future and feels above the
impressions of the vulgar crowd.

He knew exactly what course he was going to follow. He had disembarked
at ten o'clock the night before, and as it was not yet twenty-four hours
since he had touched land, his mentality was still that of a man who
comes from afar, across oceanic immensities, from boundless horizons,
and is surprised at finding himself in touch with the preoccupations
which govern human communities. After disembarking he had spent two
hours in a cafe in Boulogne, listlessly watching the middle-class
families who passed their time in the monotonous placidity of a life
without dangers. Then the special train for the passengers from South
America had brought him to Paris, leaving him at four in the morning
on a platform of the Gare du Nord in the embrace of Pepe Argensola, the
young Spaniard whom he sometimes called "my secretary" or "my valet"
because it was difficult to define exactly the relationship between
them. In reality, he was a mixture of friend and parasite, the poor
comrade, complacent and capable in his companionship with a rich youth
on bad terms with his family, sharing with him the ups and downs
of fortune, picking up the crumbs of prosperous days, or inventing
expedients to keep up appearances in the hours of poverty.

"What about the war?" Argensola had asked him before inquiring about the
result of his trip. "You have come a long ways and should know much."

Soon he was sound asleep in his dear old bed while his "secretary" was
pacing up and down the studio talking of Servia, Russia and the Kaiser.
This youth, too, skeptical as he generally was about everything not
connected with his own interests, appeared infected by the general
excitement.

When Desnoyers awoke he found her note awaiting him, setting their
meeting at five that afternoon and also containing a few words about the
threatened danger which was claiming the attention of all Paris. Upon
going out in search of lunch the concierge, on the pretext of welcoming
him back, had asked him the war news. And in the restaurant, the cafe
and the street, always war . . . the possibility of war with
Germany. . . .

Julio was an optimist. What did all this restlessness signify to a man
who had just been living more than twenty days among Germans, crossing
the Atlantic under the flag of the Empire?

He had sailed from Buenos Aires in a steamer of the Hamburg line, the
Koenig Frederic August. The world was in blessed tranquillity when
the boat left port. Only the whites and half-breeds of Mexico were
exterminating each other in conflicts in order that nobody might believe
that man is an animal degenerated by peace. On the rest of the
planet, the people were displaying unusual prudence. Even aboard the
transatlantic liner, the little world of passengers of most diverse
nationalities appeared a fragment of future society implanted by way of
experiment in modern times--a sketch of the hereafter, without frontiers
or race antagonisms.

One morning the ship band which every Sunday had sounded the Choral of
Luther, awoke those sleeping in the first-class cabins with the most
unheard-of serenade. Desnoyers rubbed his eyes believing himself
under the hallucinations of a dream. The German horns were playing the
Marseillaise through the corridors and decks. The steward, smiling at
his astonishment, said, "The fourteenth of July!" On the German steamers
they celebrate as their own the great festivals of all the nations
represented by their cargo and passengers. Their captains are careful
to observe scrupulously the rites of this religion of the flag and its
historic commemoration. The most insignificant republic saw the ship
decked in its honor, affording one more diversion to help combat the
monotony of the voyage and further the lofty ends of the Germanic
propaganda. For the first time the great festival of France was being
celebrated on a German vessel, and whilst the musicians continued
escorting a racy Marseillaise in double quick time through the different
floors, the morning groups were commenting on the event.

"What finesse!" exclaimed the South American ladies. "These Germans are
not so phlegmatic as they seem. It is an attention . . . something very
distinguished. . . . And is it possible that some still believe that
they and the French might come to blows?"

The very few Frenchmen who were travelling on the steamer found
themselves admired as though they had increased immeasurably in public
esteem. There were only three;--an old jeweller who had been visiting
his branch shops in America, and two demi-mondaines from the rue de
la Paix, the most timid and well-behaved persons aboard, vestals with
bright eyes and disdainful noses who held themselves stiffly aloof in
this uncongenial atmosphere.

At night there was a gala banquet in the dining room at the end of which
the French flag and that of the Empire formed a flaunting, conspicuous
drapery. All the German passengers were in dress suits, and their wives
were wearing low-necked gowns. The uniforms of the attendants were as
resplendent as on a day of a grand review.

During dessert the tapping of a knife upon a glass reduced the table
to sudden silence. The Commandant was going to speak. And this brave
mariner who united to his nautical functions the obligation of making
harangues at banquets and opening the dance with the lady of most
importance, began unrolling a string of words like the noise of clappers
between long intervals of silence. Desnoyers knew a little German as
a souvenir of a visit to some relatives in Berlin, and so was able
to catch a few words. The Commandant was repeating every few minutes
"peace" and "friends." A table neighbor, a commercial commissioner,
offered his services as interpreter to Julio, with that obsequiousness
which lives on advertisement.

"The Commandant asks God to maintain peace between Germany and France
and hopes that the two peoples will become increasingly friendly."

Another orator arose at the same table. He was the most influential of
the German passengers, a rich manufacturer from Dusseldorf who had just
been visiting his agents in America. He was never mentioned by name. He
bore the title of Commercial Counsellor, and among his countrymen was
always Herr Comerzienrath and his wife was entitled Frau Rath. The
Counsellor's Lady, much younger than her important husband, had from
the first attracted the attention of Desnoyers. She, too, had made an
exception in favor of this young Argentinian, abdicating her title from
their first conversation. "Call me Bertha," she said as condescendingly
as a duchess of Versailles might have spoken to a handsome abbot seated
at her feet. Her husband, also protested upon hearing Desnoyers call him
"Counsellor," like his compatriots.

"My friends," he said, "call me 'Captain.' I command a company of the
Landsturm." And the air with which the manufacturer accompanied these
words, revealed the melancholy of an unappreciated man scorning the
honors he has in order to think only of those he does not possess.

While he was delivering his discourse, Julio was examining his small
head and thick neck which gave him a certain resemblance to a bull dog.
In imagination he saw the high and oppressive collar of a uniform making
a double roll of fat above its stiff edge. The waxed, upright moustaches
were bristling aggressively. His voice was sharp and dry as though
he were shaking out his words. . . . Thus the Emperor would utter his
harangues, so the martial burgher, with instinctive imitation, was
contracting his left arm, supporting his hand upon the hilt of an
invisible sword.

In spite of his fierce and oratorical gesture of command, all the
listening Germans laughed uproariously at his first words, like men who
knew how to appreciate the sacrifice of a Herr Comerzienrath when he
deigns to divert a festivity.

"He is saying very witty things about the French," volunteered the
interpreter in a low voice, "but they are not offensive."

Julio had guessed as much upon hearing repeatedly the word Franzosen.
He almost understood what the orator was saying--"Franzosen--great
children, light-hearted, amusing, improvident. The things that they
might do together if they would only forget past grudges!" The attentive
Germans were no longer laughing. The Counsellor was laying aside his
irony, that grandiloquent, crushing irony, weighing many tons, as
enormous as a ship. Then he began unrolling the serious part of his
harangue, so that he himself, was also greatly affected.

"He says, sir," reported Julio's neighbor, "that he wishes France
to become a very great nation so that some day we may march together
against other enemies . . . against OTHERS!"

And he winked one eye, smiling maliciously with that smile of common
intelligence which this allusion to the mysterious enemy always
awakened.

Finally the Captain-Counsellor raised his glass in a toast to France.
"Hoch!" he yelled as though he were commanding an evolution of his
soldierly Reserves. Three times he sounded the cry and all the German
contingent springing to their feet, responded with a lusty Hoch while
the band in the corridor blared forth the Marseillaise.

Desnoyers was greatly moved. Thrills of enthusiasm were coursing up
and down his spine. His eyes became so moist that, when drinking his
champagne, he almost believed that he had swallowed some tears. He
bore a French name. He had French blood in his veins, and this that the
gringoes were doing--although generally they seemed to him ridiculous
and ordinary--was really worth acknowledging. The subjects of the Kaiser
celebrating the great date of the Revolution! He believed that he was
witnessing a great historic event.

"Very well done!" he said to the other South Americans at the near
tables. "We must admit that they have done the handsome thing."

Then with the vehemence of his twenty-seven years, he accosted the
jeweller in the passage way, reproaching him for his silence. He was
the only French citizen aboard. He should have made a few words of
acknowledgment. The fiesta was ending awkwardly through his fault.

"And why have you not spoken as a son of France?" retorted the jeweller.

"I am an Argentinian citizen," replied Julio.

And he left the older man believing that he ought to have spoken and
making explanations to those around him. It was a very dangerous thing,
he protested, to meddle in diplomatic affairs. Furthermore, he had not
instructions from his government. And for a few hours he believed that
he had been on the point of playing a great role in history.

Desnoyers passed the rest of the evening in the smoking room attracted
thither by the presence of the Counsellor's Lady. The Captain of the
Landsturm, sticking a preposterous cigar between his moustachios, was
playing poker with his countrymen ranking next to him in dignity and
riches. His wife stayed beside him most of the time, watching the goings
and comings of the stewards carrying great bocks, without daring to
share in this tremendous consumption of beer. Her special preoccupation
was to keep vacant near her a seat which Desnoyers might occupy. She
considered him the most distinguished man on board because he was
accustomed to taking champagne with all his meals. He was of medium
height, a decided brunette, with a small foot, which obliged her to tuck
hers under her skirts, and a triangular face under two masses of hair,
straight, black and glossy as lacquer, the very opposite of the type of
men about her. Besides, he was living in Paris, in the city which she
had never seen after numerous trips in both hemispheres.

"Oh, Paris! Paris!" she sighed, opening her eyes and pursing her lips
in order to express her admiration when she was speaking alone to the
Argentinian. "How I should love to go there!"

And in order that he might feel free to tell her things about Paris, she
permitted herself certain confidences about the pleasures of Berlin, but
with a blushing modesty, admitting in advance that in the world there
was more--much more--that she wished to become acquainted with.

While pacing around the Chapelle Expiatoire, Julio recalled with a
certain remorse the wife of Counsellor Erckmann. He who had made the
trip to America for a woman's sake, in order to collect money and marry
her! Then he immediately began making excuses for his conduct. Nobody
was going to know. Furthermore he did not pretend to be an ascetic, and
Bertha Erckmann was certainly a tempting adventure in mid ocean. Upon
recalling her, his imagination always saw a race horse--large, spare,
roan colored, and with a long stride. She was an up-to-date German who
admitted no defect in her country except the excessive weight of its
women, combating in her person this national menace with every known
system of dieting. For her every meal was a species of torment, and
the procession of bocks in the smoking room a tantalizing agony.
The slenderness achieved and maintained by will power only made more
prominent the size of her frame, the powerful skeleton with heavy jaws
and large teeth, strong and dazzling, which perhaps suggested Desnoyers'
disrespectful comparison. "She is thin, but enormous, nevertheless!" was
always his conclusion.

But then, he considered her, notwithstanding, the most distinguished
woman on board--distinguished for the sea--elegant in the style of
Munich, with clothes of indescribable colors that suggested Persian art
and the vignettes of mediaeval manuscripts. The husband admired Bertha's
elegance, lamenting her childlessness in secret, almost as though it
were a crime of high treason. Germany was magnificent because of the
fertility of its women. The Kaiser, with his artistic hyperbole, had
proclaimed that the true German beauty should have a waist measure of at
least a yard and a half.

When Desnoyers entered into the smoking room in order to take the
seat which Bertha had reserved for him, her husband and his wealthy
hangers-on had their pack of cards lying idle upon the green felt. Herr
Rath was continuing his discourse and his listeners, taking their cigars
from their mouths, were emitting grunts of approbation. The arrival of
Julio provoked a general smile of amiability. Here was France coming
to fraternize with them. They knew that his father was French, and
that fact made him as welcome as though he came in direct line from the
palace of the Quai d'Orsay, representing the highest diplomacy of the
Republic. The craze for proselyting made them all promptly concede to
him unlimited importance.

"We," continued the Counsellor looking fixedly at Desnoyers as if he
were expecting a solemn declaration from him, "we wish to live on good
terms with France."

The youth nodded his head so as not to appear inattentive. It appeared
to him a very good thing that these peoples should not be enemies, and
as far as he was concerned, they might affirm this relationship as often
as they wished: the only thing that was interesting him just at
that time was a certain knee that was seeking his under the table,
transmitting its gentle warmth through a double curtain of silk.

"But France," complained the manufacturer, "is most unresponsive towards
us. For many years past, our Emperor has been holding out his hand with
noble loyalty, but she pretends not to see it. . . . That, you must
admit, is not as it should be."

Just here Desnoyers believed that he ought to say something in order
that the spokesman might not divine his more engrossing occupation.

"Perhaps you are not doing enough. If, first of all, you would return
that which you took away from France!" . . .

Stupefied silence followed this remark, as if the alarm signal had
sounded through the boat. Some of those who were about putting their
cigars in their mouths, remained with hands immovable within two inches
of their lips, their eyes almost popping out of their heads. But the
Captain of the Landsturm was there to formulate their mute protest.

"Return!" he said in a voice almost extinguished by the sudden swelling
of his neck. "We have nothing to return, for we have taken nothing. That
which we possess, we acquire by our heroism."

The hidden knee with its agreeable friction made itself more
insinuating, as though counselling the youth to greater prudence.

"Do not say such things," breathed Bertha, "thus only the republicans,
corrupted by Paris, talk. A youth so distinguished who has been in
Berlin, and has relatives in Germany!" . . .

But Desnoyers felt a hereditary impulse of aggressiveness before each
of her husband's statements, enunciated in haughty tones, and responded
coldly:--

"It is as if I should take your watch and then propose that we should be
friends, forgetting the occurrence. Although you might forget, the first
thing for me to do would be to return the watch."

Counsellor Erckmann wished to retort with so many things at once that he
stuttered horribly, leaping from one idea to the other. To compare the
reconquest of Alsace to a robbery. A German country! The race . . . the
language . . . the history! . . .

"But when did they announce their wish to be German?" asked the youth
without losing his calmness. "When have you consulted their opinion?"

The Counsellor hesitated, not knowing whether to argue with this
insolent fellow or crush him with his scorn.

"Young man, you do not know what you are talking about," he finally
blustered with withering contempt. "You are an Argentinian and do not
understand the affairs of Europe."

And the others agreed, suddenly repudiating the citizenship which
they had attributed to him a little while before. The Counsellor, with
military rudeness, brusquely turned his back upon him, and taking up
the pack, distributed the cards. The game was renewed. Desnoyers, seeing
himself isolated by the scornful silence, felt greatly tempted to break
up the playing by violence; but the hidden knee continued counselling
self-control, and an invisible hand had sought his right, pressing
it sweetly. That was enough to make him recover his serenity. The
Counsellor's Lady seemed to be absorbed in the progress of the game. He
also looked on, a malignant smile contracting slightly the lines of his
mouth as he was mentally ejaculating by way of consolation, "Captain,
Captain! . . . You little know what is awaiting you!"