The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

V >> Vicente Blasco Ibanez >> The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse


Marguerite had never supposed that he could be so common and noisy in
his anger. She had expected that he would accept the facts coldly with
that slight tinge of philosophical irony usually shown by distinguished
men, as the husbands of her friends had done. But the poor engineer
who, outside of his work, saw only his wife, loving her as a woman,
and adoring her as a dainty and superior being, a model of grace and
elegance, could not endure the thought of her downfall, and cried and
threatened without reserve, so that the scandal became known throughout
their entire circle of friends. The senator felt greatly annoyed in
remembering that it was in his exclusive home that the guilty ones had
become acquainted; but his displeasure was visited upon the husband.
What lack of good taste! . . . Women will be women, and everything
is capable of adjustment. But before the imprudent outbursts of this
frantic devil no elegant solution was possible, and there was now
nothing to do but to begin divorce proceedings.

Desnoyers, senior, was very indignant upon learning of this last
escapade of his son. He had always had a great liking for Laurier.
That instinctive bond which exists between men of industry, patient and
silent, had made them very congenial. At the senator's receptions he
had always talked with the engineer about the progress of his business,
interesting himself in the development of that factory of which he
always spoke with the affection of a father. The millionaire, in
spite of his reputation for miserliness, had even volunteered his
disinterested support if at any time it should become necessary to
enlarge the plant. And it was this good man's happiness that his son, a
frivolous and useless dancer, was going to steal! . . .

At first Laurier spoke of a duel. His wrath was that of a work horse who
breaks the tight reins of his laboring outfit, tosses his mane, neighs
wildly and bites. The father was greatly distressed at the possibility
of such an outcome. . . . One scandal more! Julio had dedicated the
greater part of his existence to the handling of arms.

"He will kill the poor man!" he said to the senator. "I am sure that he
will kill him. It is the logic of life; the good-for-nothing always kill
those who amount to anything."

But there was no killing. The Father of the Republic knew how to handle
the clashing parties, with the same skill that he always employed in
the corridors of the Senate during a ministerial crisis. The scandal was
hushed up. Marguerite went to live with her mother and took the first
steps for a divorce.

Some evenings, when the studio clock was striking seven, she would yawn
and say sadly: "I must go. . . . I have to go, although this is my true
home. . . . Ah, what a pity that we are not married!"

And he, feeling a whole garden of bourgeois virtues, hitherto ignored,
bursting into bloom, repeated in a tone of conviction:

"That's so; why are we not married!"

Their wishes could be realized. The husband was facilitating the step
by his unexpected intervention. So young Desnoyers set forth for South
America in order to raise the money and marry Marguerite.



CHAPTER IV

THE COUSIN FROM BERLIN


The studio of Julio Desnoyers was on the top floor, both the stairway
and the elevator stopping before his door. The two tiny apartments
at the back were lighted by an interior court, their only means of
communication being the service stairway which went on up to the
garrets.

While his comrade was away, Argensola had made the acquaintance of those
in the neighboring lodgings. The largest of the apartments was empty
during the day, its occupants not returning till after they had taken
their evening meal in a restaurant. As both husband and wife were
employed outside, they could not remain at home except on holidays.
The man, vigorous and of a martial aspect, was superintendent in a big
department store. . . . He had been a soldier in Africa, wore a military
decoration, and had the rank of sub-lieutenant in the Reserves. She was
a blonde, heavy and rather anaemic, with bright eyes and a sentimental
expression. On holidays she spent long hours at the piano, playing
musical reveries, always the same. At other times Argensola saw
her through the interior window working in the kitchen aided by her
companion, the two laughing over their clumsiness and inexperience in
preparing the Sunday dinner.

The concierge thought that this woman was a German, but she herself said
that she was Swiss. She was a cashier in a shop--not the one in which
her husband was employed. In the mornings they left home together,
separating in the Place d'Etoile. At seven in the evening they met here,
greeting each other with a kiss, like lovers who meet for the first
time; and then after supper, they returned to their nest in the rue de
la Pompe. All Argensola's attempts at friendliness with these neighbors
were repulsed because of their self-centredness. They responded with
freezing courtesy; they lived only for themselves.

The other apartment of two rooms was occupied by a single man. He was a
Russian or Pole who almost always returned with a package of books, and
passed many hours writing near the patio window. From the very first the
Spaniard took him to be a mysterious man, probably a very distinguished
one--a true hero of a novel. The foreign appearance of this Tchernoff
made a great impression upon him--his dishevelled beard, and oily
locks, his spectacles upon a large nose that seemed deformed by a
dagger-thrust. There emanated from him, like an invisible nimbus, an
odor of cheap wine and soiled clothing.

When Argensola caught a glimpse of him through the service door he would
say to himself, "Ah, Friend Tchernoff is returning," and thereupon
he would saunter out to the stairway in order to have a chat with his
neighbor. For a long time the stranger discouraged all approach to his
quarters, which fact led the Spaniard to infer that he devoted himself
to alchemy and kindred mysteries. When he finally was allowed to enter
he saw only books, many books, books everywhere--scattered on the floor,
heaped upon benches, piled in corners, overflowing on to broken-down
chairs, old tables, and a bed that was only made up now and then when
the owner, alarmed by the increasing invasion of dust and cobwebs, was
obliged to call in the aid of his friend, the concierge.

Argensola finally realized, not without a certain disenchantment, that
there was nothing mysterious in the life of the man. What he was writing
near the window were merely translations, some of them ordered, others
volunteer work for the socialist periodicals. The only marvellous thing
about him was the quantity of languages that he knew.

"He knows them all," said the Spaniard, when describing their neighbor
to Desnoyers. "He has only to hear of a new one to master it. He
holds the key, the secret of all languages, living or dead. He
speaks Castilian as well as we do, and yet he has never been in a
Spanish-speaking country."

Argensola again felt a thrill of mystery upon reading the titles of many
of the volumes. The majority were old books, many of them in languages
that he was not able to decipher, picked up for a song at second-hand
shops or on the book stands installed upon the parapets of the Seine.
Only a man holding the key of tongues could get together such volumes.
An atmosphere of mysticism, of superhuman insight, of secrets intact
for many centuries appeared to emanate from these heaps of dusty volumes
with worm-eaten leaves. And mixed with these ancient tomes were others
red and conspicuous, pamphlets of socialistic propaganda, leaflets in
all the languages of Europe and periodicals--many periodicals, with
revolutionary titles.

Tchernoff did not appear to enjoy visits and conversation. He would
smile enigmatically into his black beard, and was very sparing with his
words so as to shorten the interview. But Argensola possessed the means
of winning over this sullen personage. It was only necessary for him
to wink one eye with the expressive invitation, "Do we go?" and the two
would soon be settled on a bench in the kitchen of Desnoyers' studio,
opposite a bottle which had come from the avenue Victor Hugo. The costly
wines of Don Marcelo made the Russian more communicative, although, in
spite of this aid, the Spaniard learned little of his neighbor's real
existence. Sometimes he would mention Jaures and other socialistic
orators. His surest means of existence was the translation of
periodicals or party papers. On various occasions the name of Siberia
escaped from his lips, and he admitted that he had been there a long
time; but he did not care to talk about a country visited against his
will. He would merely smile modestly, showing plainly that he did not
wish to make any further revelations.

The morning after the return of Julio Desnoyers, while Argensola was
talking on the stairway with Tchernoff, the bell rang. How annoying! The
Russian, who was well up in advanced politics, was just explaining the
plans advanced by Jaures. There were still many who hoped that war might
be averted. He had his motives for doubting it. . . . He, Tchernoff, was
commenting on these illusions with the smile of a flat-nosed sphinx when
the bell rang for a second time, so that Argensola was obliged to break
away from his interesting friend, and run to open the main door.

A gentleman wished to see Julio. He spoke very correct French, though
his accent was a revelation for Argensola. Upon going into the bedroom
in search of his master, who was just arising, he said confidently,
"It's the cousin from Berlin who has come to say good-bye. It could not
be anyone else."

When the three came together in the studio, Desnoyers presented his
comrade, in order that the visitor might not make any mistake in regard
to his social status.

"I have heard him spoken of. The gentleman is Argensola, a very
deserving youth."

Doctor Julius von Hartrott said this with the self-sufficiency of a
man who knows everything and wishes to be agreeable to an inferior,
conceding him the alms of his attention.

The two cousins confronted each other with a curiosity not altogether
free from distrust. Although closely related, they knew each other very
slightly, tacitly admitting complete divergence in opinions and tastes.

After slowly examining the Sage, Argensola came to the conclusion that
he looked like an officer dressed as a civilian. He noticed in his
person an effort to imitate the soldierly when occasionally discarding
uniform--the ambition of every German burgher wishing to be taken for
the superior class. His trousers were narrow, as though intended to be
tucked into cavalry boots. His coat with two rows of buttons had the
contracted waist with very full skirt and upstanding lapels, suggesting
vaguely a military great coat. The reddish moustachios, strong jaw and
shaved head completed his would-be martial appearance; but his eyes,
large, dark-circled and near-sighted, were the eyes of a student taking
refuge behind great thick glasses which gave him the aspect of a man of
peace.

Desnoyers knew that he was an assistant professor of the University,
that he had published a few volumes, fat and heavy as bricks, and that
he was a member of an academic society collaborating in documentary
research directed by a famous historian. In his lapel he was wearing the
badge of a foreign order.

Julio's respect for the learned member of the family was not unmixed
with contempt. He and his sister Chichi had from childhood felt an
instinctive hostility toward the cousins from Berlin. It annoyed him,
too, to have his family everlastingly holding up as a model this
pedant who only knew life as it is in books, and passed his existence
investigating what men had done in other epochs, in order to draw
conclusions in harmony with Germany's views. While young Desnoyers
had great facility for admiration, and reverenced all those whose
"arguments" Argensola had doled out to him, he drew the line at
accepting the intellectual grandeur of this illustrious relative.

During his stay in Berlin, a German word of vulgar invention had enabled
him to classify this prig. Heavy books of minute investigation were
every month being published by the dozens in the Fatherland. There was
not a professor who could resist the temptation of constructing from the
simplest detail an enormous volume written in a dull, involved style.
The people, therefore, appreciating that these near-sighted authors were
incapable of any genial vision of comradeship, called them Sitzfleisch
haben, because of the very long sittings which their works represented.
That was what this cousin was for him, a mere Sitzfleisch haben.

Doctor von Hartrott, on explaining his visit, spoke in Spanish.
He availed himself of this language used by the family during his
childhood, as a precaution, looking around repeatedly as if he feared
to be heard. He had come to bid his cousin farewell. His mother had told
him of his return, and he had not wished to leave Paris without seeing
him. He was leaving in a few hours, since matters were growing more
strained.

"But do you really believe that there will be war?" asked Desnoyers.

"War will be declared to-morrow or the day after. Nothing can prevent it
now. It is necessary for the welfare of humanity."

Silence followed this speech, Julio and Argensola looking with
astonishment at this peaceable-looking man who had just spoken with such
martial arrogance. The two suspected that the professor was making this
visit in order to give vent to his opinions and enthusiasms. At the same
time, perhaps, he was trying to find out what they might think and know,
as one of the many viewpoints of the people in Paris.

"You are not French," he added looking at his cousin. "You were born in
Argentina, so before you I may speak the truth."

"And were you not born there?" asked Julio smiling.

The Doctor made a gesture of protest, as though he had just heard
something insulting. "No, I am a German. No matter where a German may
be born, he always belongs to his mother country." Then turning to
Argensola--"This gentleman, too, is a foreigner. He comes from noble
Spain, which owes to us the best that it has--the worship of honor, the
knightly spirit."

The Spaniard wished to remonstrate, but the Sage would not permit,
adding in an oracular tone:

"You were miserable Celts, sunk in the vileness of an inferior and
mongrel race whose domination by Rome but made your situation worse.
Fortunately you were conquered by the Goths and others of our race who
implanted in you a sense of personal dignity. Do not forget, young man,
that the Vandals were the ancestors of the Prussians of to-day."

Again Argensola tried to speak, but his friend signed to him not to
interrupt the professor who appeared to have forgotten his former
reserve and was working up to an enthusiastic pitch with his own words.

"We are going to witness great events," he continued. "Fortunate are
those born in this epoch, the most interesting in history! At this
very moment, humanity is changing its course. Now the true civilization
begins."

The war, according to him, was going to be of a brevity hitherto unseen.
Germany had been preparing herself to bring about this event without
any long, economic world-disturbance. A single month would be enough
to crush France, the most to be feared of their adversaries. Then they
would march against Russia, who with her slow, clumsy movements could
not oppose an immediate defense. Finally they would attack haughty
England, so isolated in its archipelago that it could not obstruct the
sweep of German progress. This would make a series of rapid blows and
overwhelming victories, requiring only a summer in which to play this
magnificent role. The fall of the leaves in the following autumn would
greet the definite triumph of Germany.

With the assurance of a professor who does not expect his dictum to be
refuted by his hearers, he explained the superiority of the German
race. All mankind was divided into two groups--dolicephalous and the
brachicephalous, according to the shape of the skull. Another scientific
classification divided men into the light-haired and dark-haired. The
dolicephalous (arched heads) represented purity of race and superior
mentality. The brachicephalous (flat heads) were mongrels with all the
stigma of degeneration. The German, dolicephalous par excellence, was
the only descendant of the primitive Aryans. All the other nations,
especially those of the south of Europe called "latins," belonged to a
degenerate humanity.

The Spaniard could not contain himself any longer. "But no person with
any intelligence believes any more in those antique theories of race!
What if there no longer existed a people of absolutely pure blood, owing
to thousands of admixtures due to historical conquests!" . . . Many
Germans bore the identical ethnic marks which the professor was
attributing to the inferior races.

"There is something in that," admitted Hartrott, "but although the
German race may not be perfectly pure, it is the least impure of all
races and, therefore, should have dominion over the world."

His voice took on an ironic and cutting edge when speaking of the Celts,
inhabitants of the lands of the South. They had retarded the progress
of Humanity, deflecting it in the wrong direction. The Celt is
individualistic and consequently an ungovernable revolutionary who tends
to socialism. Furthermore, he is a humanitarian and makes a virtue
of mercy, defending the existence of the weak who do not amount to
anything.

The illustrious German places above everything else, Method and Power.
Elected by Nature to command the impotent races, he possesses all
the qualifications that distinguish the superior leader. The French
Revolution was merely a clash between Teutons and Celts. The nobility of
France were descended from Germanic warriors established in the country
after the so-called invasion of the barbarians. The middle and lower
classes were the Gallic-Celtic element. The inferior race had conquered
the superior, disorganizing the country and perturbing the world.
Celtism was the inventor of Democracy, of the doctrines of Socialism and
Anarchy. Now the hour of Germanic retaliation was about to strike, and
the Northern race would re-establish order, since God had favored it by
demonstrating its indisputable superiority.

"A nation," he added, "can aspire to great destinies only when it is
fundamentally Teutonic. The less German it is, the less its civilization
amounts to. We represent 'the aristocracy of humanity,' 'the salt of the
earth,' as our William said."

Argensola was listening with astonishment to this outpouring of conceit.
All the great nations had passed through the fever of Imperialism. The
Greeks aspired to world-rule because they were the most civilized and
believed themselves the most fit to give civilization to the rest of
mankind. The Romans, upon conquering countries, implanted law and the
rule of justice. The French of the Revolution and the Empire justified
their invasions on the plea that they wished to liberate mankind and
spread abroad new ideas. Even the Spaniards of the sixteenth century,
when battling with half of Europe for religious unity and the
extermination of heresy, were working toward their ideals obscure and
perhaps erroneous, but disinterested.

All the nations of history had been struggling for something which they
had considered generous and above their own interests. Germany alone,
according to this professor, was trying to impose itself upon the
world in the name of racial superiority--a superiority that nobody had
recognized, that she was arrogating to herself, coating her affirmations
with a varnish of false science.

"Until now wars have been carried on by the soldiery," continued
Hartrott. "That which is now going to begin will be waged by a
combination of soldiers and professors. In its preparation the
University has taken as much part as the military staff. German
science, leader of all sciences, is united forever with what the Latin
revolutionists disdainfully term militarism. Force, mistress of the
world, is what creates right, that which our truly unique civilization
imposes. Our armies are the representatives of our culture, and in a
few weeks we shall free the world from its decadence, completely
rejuvenating it."

The vision of the immense future of his race was leading him on to
expose himself with lyrical enthusiasm. William I, Bismarck, all the
heroes of past victories, inspired his veneration, but he spoke of them
as dying gods whose hour had passed. They were glorious ancestors of
modest pretensions who had confined their activities to enlarging the
frontiers, and to establishing the unity of the Empire, afterwards
opposing themselves with the prudence of valetudinarians to the
daring of the new generation. Their ambitions went no further than a
continental hegemony . . . but now William II had leaped into the arena,
the complex hero that the country required.

"Lamprecht, my master, has pictured his greatness. It is tradition and
the future, method and audacity. Like his grandfather, the Emperor holds
the conviction of what monarchy by the grace of God represents, but his
vivid and modern intelligence recognizes and accepts modern conditions.
At the same time that he is romantic, feudal and a supporter of the
agrarian conservatives, he is also an up-to-date man who seeks practical
solutions and shows a utilitarian spirit. In him are correctly balanced
instinct and reason."

Germany, guided by this hero, had, according to Hartrott, been
concentrating its strength, and recognizing its true path. The
Universities supported him even more unanimously than the army. Why
store up so much power and maintain it without employment? . . . The
empire of the world belongs to the German people. The historians and
philosophers, disciples of Treitschke, were taking it upon themselves
to frame the rights that would justify this universal domination. And
Lamprecht, the psychological historian, like the other professors, was
launching the belief in the absolute superiority of the Germanic race.
It was just that it should rule the world, since it only had the power
to do so. This "telurian germanization" was to be of immense benefit
to mankind. The earth was going to be happy under the dictatorship of a
people born for mastery. The German state, "tentacular potency," would
eclipse with its glory the most imposing empire of the past and present.
Gott mit uns!

"Who will be able to deny, as my master says, that there exists a
Christian, German God, the 'Great Ally,' who is showing himself to our
enemies, the foreigners, as a strong and jealous divinity?" . . .

Desnoyers was listening to his cousin with astonishment and at the same
time looking at Argensola who, with a flutter of his eyes, seemed to be
saying to him, "He is mad! These Germans are simply mad with pride."

Meanwhile, the professor, unable to curb his enthusiasm, continued
expounding the grandeur of his race. From his viewpoint, the
providential Kaiser had shown inexplicable weakenings. He was too good
and too kind. "Deliciae generis humani," as had said Professor Lasson,
another of Hartrott's masters. Able to overthrow everything with
his annihilating power, the Emperor was limiting himself merely to
maintaining peace. But the nation did not wish to stop there, and was
pushing its leader until it had him started. It was useless now to put
on the brakes. "He who does not advance recedes";--that was the cry of
PanGermanism to the Emperor. He must press on in order to conquer the
entire world.

"And now war comes," continued the pedant. "We need the colonies of the
others, even though Bismarck, through an error of his stubborn old age,
exacted nothing at the time of universal distribution, letting England
and France get possession of the best lands. We must control all
countries that have Germanic blood and have been civilized by our
forbears."

Hartrott enumerated these countries. Holland and Belgium were German.
France, through the Franks, was one-third Teutonic blood. Italy. . . .
Here the professor hesitated, recalling the fact that this nation
was still an ally, certainly a little insecure, but still united by
diplomatic bonds. He mentioned, nevertheless, the Longobards and other
races coming from the North. Spain and Portugal had been populated by
the ruddy Goth and also belonged to the dominant race. And since the
majority of the nations of America were of Spanish and Portuguese
origin, they should also be included in this recovery.

"It is a little premature to think of these last nations just yet,"
added the Doctor modestly, "but some day the hour of justice will sound.
After our continental triumph, we shall have time to think of their
fate. . . . North America also should receive our civilizing influence,
for there are living millions of Germans who have created its
greatness."