The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Chapter 1

The Tryst

THEY WERE TO MEET IN the garden of the Chapelle Expiatoire at five o’clock in the afternoon, but Julio Desnoyers arrived a half hour earlier with the impatience of a lover who couldn’t wait for the appointed time. He was confused about the change of seasons and evidently needed some readjustment. Five months had passed since their last meeting in this square had provided the lovers with a damp, depressing refuge near a busy boulevard by a great railroad station. The meeting time was always five, and Julio was accustomed to seeing his beloved approaching under recently lit streetlamps, her figure wrapped in furs and holding her scarf before her face as if it were a half-mask. Her sweet voice, greeting him, had breathed forth a cloud of white and tenuous vapor congealed by the cold. After several awkward meetings, they abandoned the garden.

Their love had gained the significance of an acknowledged fact, and now they met from five to seven in Julio’s artist studio on the fifth floor of the rue de la Pompe. The curtains fully drawn over the double glass windows, the flames in the cozy fireplace the only light of the room, the song of the samovar bubbling near the teacups, had dulled their perceptions to the fact that the afternoons were growing longer, that the sun was shining later and later into the pearl-covered depths of the clouds, and that a timid and pallid spring was showing its green fingertips in the buds of the branches enduring the last touches of winter.

Julio then left for his trip to Buenos Aires, encountering the last smile of autumn in the other hemisphere and the first frigid winds from the pampas. Just as he was becoming accustomed to the fact that winter seemed a permanent season for him – since it was always present when he changed his domicile from one end of the planet to the other – summer was unexpectedly before him in this dreary garden!

A swarm of children was racing and screaming around the monument. As he entered, the first thing that Julio encountered was a hoop rolling toward his legs, trundled by a child’s hand. Then he stumbled over a ball. The usual warm-weather crowd was gathering around the chestnut trees, seeking the bluish shade punctuated with points of light. Nursemaids from the neighborhood chattered among themselves as they occasionally glanced indifferently at the horseplay of the children confided to their care. Some men had brought their newspapers into the garden, thinking they could read them peacefully. All the benches were full. A few women sat in their folding chairs with the air of superiority that ownership always confers. The iron pay seats were occupied by various suburban ladies loaded with packages, who were waiting for straggling members of their families to catch a train home from the Gare Saint Lazare train station.

In his special delivery letter, Julio had proposed to meet in this place, assuming it would be as private and tranquil as before. With the same inattention, she had suggested the usual five o’clock hour in her reply, believing that after spending some time in the Printemps or Galeries stores pretending to shop, she could slip over to the garden without being seen by any of her many acquaintances.

Desnoyers was enjoying the almost forgotten sensation of strolling through spacious surroundings as he walked the sandy paths of the garden. For the past twenty days, he had only strolled the confined deck of a ship. His feet had grown accustomed to unstable ground and still felt unsteady on terra firma. His presence had attracted no curiosity, as a shared preoccupation seemed to have captured everyone’s attention. Groups of men and women were clustered together, exchanging opinions. Those holding newspapers watched their neighbors approaching them with smiles of interrogation. The distrust and suspicion that compels city residents to ignore one another had vanished.

They are talking about the war, said Desnoyers to himself. All of Paris speaks of nothing but the prospect of war.

Outside of the garden, he observed the same anxiety that was making those around him so convivial. Newspaper vendors raced along the boulevard, hawking the evening editions, as eager hands tugged at their sleeves, contending for a copy. Every reader was instantly surrounded by people begging for news or trying to read the great headlines over their shoulders. On the other side of the square, some laborers were gathered under the awning of a tavern listening to a friend who gestured and waved his newspaper wildly as he spoke.

The traffic in the streets and the general bustle of the city were the same as before. Still, it seemed to Julio that the vehicles were speeding past more rapidly, that there was a feverish agitation in the air and that people were speaking and smiling differently. The women in the garden seemed to look at him with familiarity, as if they had seen him before.

They are talking of war, he said again to himself, as if he possessed a superior intelligence that enabled him to foresee the future.

He had disembarked at ten o’clock the night before. As it was not yet twenty-four hours since he had set foot on land, his mind was still that of a traveler from afar who was surprised at finding himself surrounded by the preoccupations of human communities. After disembarking, he had spent two hours in a bistro in Boulogne, listlessly watching the middle-class families who passed their time in the placidity of life without danger. Then the special train for the passengers from South America had brought him to Paris, leaving him at four in the morning at the Gare du Nord station where Pepe Argensola awaited. Pepe was a young Spaniard he sometimes called my secretary or my valet  because it was difficult to define their relationship. In reality, he was a mixture of friend and parasite, the poor comrade, complacent in his companionship with a wealthy youth at odds with his family. Pepe shared the ups and downs of life with Julio, picking up the crumbs of prosperous days and inventing ways to keep up appearances in times of poverty.

What about the war? Argensola had asked him before inquiring about his trip. You have come a long way and should know a great deal.

Soon Julio was sound asleep in his dear old bed while his secretary paced up and down the studio talking about Serbia, Russia, and the Kaiser. Skeptical as he usually was about everything outside his own interests, young Argensola appeared infected by the general excitement.

When Julio awoke, he found her note confirming their meeting at five that afternoon. It also contained a few words about the threat of danger that had seized Paris’s attention. As he exited the building for lunch, the concierge asked him about the war news on the pretext of welcoming him back. And in the restaurant, the café and on the street, the talk was always about war – the possibility of war with Germany.

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

He had sailed from Buenos Aires in a Hamburg line steamer, the Koenig Frederic August. The world was in blessed tranquility when the boat left port. Only the people of Mexico were killing each other, perhaps so that nobody might believe that man is an animal degenerated by peace. On the rest of the planet, human beings were displaying unusual prudence. Even aboard the transatlantic liner, the little world of passengers of diverse nationalities looked like a small piece of a utopian future society without national borders or racial animosity.

One morning, the ship band, which had sounded a Lutheran chorale every Sunday, awoke those sleeping in the first-class cabins with the most unheard-of serenade. Desnoyers rubbed his eyes, believing himself to be still dreaming. The German horns were playing the Marseillaise through the corridors and decks. Smiling at Julio’s astonishment, the steward said, It’s July fourteenth! On all German steamers, the great festivals of the nations represented by their cargo and passengers were always celebrated. Their captains are careful to scrupulously observe the rites of this religion of the flag and its historical commemoration. The most insignificant republic saw the ship decked out in its honor, providing one more diversion to help combat the monotony of the voyage and further Germanic propaganda. For the first time, France’s great festival was celebrated on a German vessel by musicians playing a racy Marseillaise in quick double-time throughout the ship while the passengers commented on the event.

What finesse! exclaimed the South American ladies. These Germans are not as phlegmatic as they seem. It is a very distinguished gesture. Is it possible for some to still believe that they and the French might come to blows?

The few Frenchmen aboard the steamer found themselves admired, as though they had increased immeasurably in public esteem. There were only three – an old jeweler visiting his shops in America and two demimondaines from the Rue de la Paix, the timidest and most well-behaved persons aboard, virtuous women 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 conspicuously draped with the flags of France and the German Empire. All German passengers wore fine suits, and their wives wore low-necked gowns. The attendants’ uniforms were as resplendent as on a day of a grand review. During dessert, a knife tapping a glass suddenly silenced the crowd. The Commander was going to speak. Besides his nautical functions, this brave mariner assumed oratory duties at banquets and opening dances with the most important lady present. He began unrolling a string of words like the noise of clappers between long intervals of silence. Desnoyers knew a little German from a visit to relatives in Berlin and could catch a few words. The Commander repeated peace and friends every few minutes. A commercial commissioner at Julio’s table obsequiously offered his services as an interpreter.

The Commander asks God to maintain peace between Germany and France and hopes that the two peoples will become increasingly friendly. Another speaker arose at the same table. He was the most influential of the German passengers, a prosperous manufacturer from Dusseldorf who had just been visiting his agents in America. He was never mentioned by name and bore the title of Commercial Counselor. The Counselor’s wife, much younger than her important husband, had immediately attracted Julio’s attention. She had made an exception for this young Argentinian, abdicating her title from their first conversation. Call me Bertha, she said as condescendingly as a duchess from Versailles might have spoken to a handsome abbot seated at her feet.

Her husband also protested when Desnoyers called him Counselor, like his compatriots. My friends, he said, call me ‘Captain.’ I command a company of the Landsturm. The air with which the manufacturer spoke these words revealed the melancholy of an unappreciated man scorning the honors he has to think only of those he does not possess. While delivering his speech, Julio examined his small head and thick neck, making him resemble a bulldog. He imagined the man wearing a captain’s uniform’s high and oppressive collar, creating a double fat roll above its stiff edge. The waxed mustache bristled aggressively. His voice was sharp and dry, as though he were shaking out his words. Unconsciously imitating the Kaiser, the martial burgher was contracting his left arm, supporting his hand upon the hilt of an invisible sword. Despite his fierce-sounding words and steely stance, all the Germans present laughed uproariously as he spoke, like men who knew how to appreciate the sacrifice of a distinguished man when he deigns to enliven 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 repeatedly hearing the word Franzosen. He almost understood what the great man said – Franzosen... brilliant children, light-hearted, amusing, extravagant. We could do things together if they would only forget past grudges! The attentive Germans were no longer laughing. The Counselor was dispensing with his grandiloquent, crushing irony, as enormous as their ship. Then he began the serious part of his speech, becoming visibly emotional.

He says, sir, reported Julio’s neighbor, that he wishes France to become a great nation so that someday we may march together against other enemies... against others! And he winked an eye, smiling maliciously at this allusion to a mysterious common enemy.

Finally, the Captain-Counselor raised his glass in a toast to France. Hoch! he yelled as though he were commanding a company of soldiers. He sounded the cry thrice, and the German contingent sprang to their feet, responding with a lusty Hoch! while the band in the corridor blared forth the Marseillaise.

Desnoyers was moved. Shivers coursed up and down his spine. His eyes became so moist that he almost thought he had swallowed some tears as he drank his champagne. He bore a French name. He had French blood in his veins, and this gesture by the gringos – although they seemed to him ridiculous and boorish – was really worth acknowledging. The subjects of the Kaiser celebrating the great day of the Revolution! He believed he was witnessing a significant historical event.

Very well done! he said to the other South Americans at nearby tables. We must admit that they have done a gracious thing. Then, with the imprudence of his twenty-seven years, he accosted the jeweler in the passageway, reproaching him for his silence. He was the only French citizen aboard and should have spoken a few words of acknowledgment. The celebration was ending awkwardly because of him.

And why have you not spoken out as a son of France? retorted the jeweler. I am an Argentinian citizen, replied Julio. And he left the older man believing he ought to have spoken and made excuses to those around him. He protested it was perilous to meddle in diplomatic affairs, and had received no instructions from his government.

Desnoyers passed the rest of the evening in the smoking room, attracted by the Counselor’s wife. The Captain of the Landsturm held a preposterous cigar between his lips and was playing poker with those countrymen who ranked near him in grandeur and wealth. His wife stayed beside him most of the time, watching the goings and comings of the stewards carrying great tankards of bock beer without daring to share in this prodigious consumption. Her chief interest was to keep the seat next to her unoccupied for Desnoyers. She considered him the most distinguished man aboard because he was accustomed to drinking champagne with all his meals.

Julio was of medium height, with dark pigmentation and small feet, which prompted her to tuck hers under her skirts. His triangular face was framed by two masses of straight hair, black and glossy as lacquer, opposite the type of men about her. Besides, he lived in Paris, a city she had never seen, despite many trips throughout both hemispheres.

Oh, Paris! Paris! she sighed, opening her eyes and pursing her lips to express her admiration when speaking alone to the Argentinian. How I should love to go there! And to prompt him to tell her about Paris, she revealed certain confidences about the pleasures of Berlin, but with a blushing modesty, admitting that there was more in the world – much more – that she wished to become acquainted with.

While pacing around the Chapelle Expiatoire, Julio recalled with remorse his antics with the wife of Counselor Erckmann. He had made the trip to America for another woman’s sake to collect enough money to marry her! Then he immediately began making excuses for his conduct. Nobody was going to know. He did not pretend to be an ascetic, and Bertha Erckmann was a tempting mid-ocean adventure. His memory of her always evoked a racehorse – large, lean, roan-colored, and with a long stride.

She was a modern German who admitted no fault in her country except the excessive weight of its women, and had fought this national menace with every known dieting system. For her, every meal was a torment, and the procession of beer tankards in the smoking room was tantalizing. The slenderness achieved and maintained by willpower alone accentuated her size, the robust skeleton with heavy jaws and large teeth, strong and dazzling, which perhaps led to Desnoyers’ disrespectful comparison. She is thin but enormous! was always his conclusion.

But he considered her the most distinguished woman on board, elegant in the style of Munich, with clothes of indescribable colors that suggested Persian art and the vignettes of medieval manuscripts. The husband admired Bertha’s elegance, secretly lamenting her childlessness, almost like it was treason. Germany was magnificent because of the fertility of its women. With his artistic hyperbole, the Kaiser proclaimed that a German beauty should have a waist measurement of at least a yard and a half.

When Desnoyers entered the smoking room to take the seat that Bertha had reserved for him, her husband and his wealthy hangers-on had paused their card game. Erckmann continued his discourse while his audience emitted grunts of affirmation between puffs of their cigars. Julio’s presence provoked amiable smiles from the Germans. Here was France, coming to fraternize with them. They knew his father was French, which made him as welcome as a high-ranking diplomat from the Republic. Their enthusiasm for proselytizing made them all grant Julio great importance.

We, continued the Counselor, looking straight 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. He thought these nations should not be enemies, and as far as he was concerned, they could affirm this relationship as often as they liked. The only thing on his mind at the moment was a particular knee seeking his under the table, transmitting its gentle warmth through a double silk curtain.

But France, complained the Counselor, is most unresponsive towards us. Our Emperor has been extending his noble hand for many years, but France pretends not to see it. That, you must admit, is not as it should be.

That’s when Desnoyers thought he ought to say something so Erckmann would overlook his more engrossing endeavor. Perhaps you are not doing enough, and should return what you took from France!

Stupefied silence followed this remark as if an alarm had sounded through the boat. Some were about to put cigars in their mouths froze with their hands two inches from their lips, their eyes almost popping out of their heads. But the Captain of the Landsturm stepped in to articulate their mute protest.

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

The hidden knee made itself more insinuating, as though counseling the youth to prudence. Do not say such things, breathed Bertha. Only the corrupt Parisian republicans talk like this. A distinguished youth like you who has been in Berlin and has relatives in Germany.

But Desnoyers felt a hereditary impulse of aggressiveness toward her husband’s statements and responded in cold, haughty tones, It’s as if I had stolen your watch and then proposed that we be friends. The first thing I would do is return the watch.

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

But when did they announce their desire to be German? asked the youth, remaining calm. When did you ask their opinion?

The Counselor hesitated, unsure whether to argue with this insolent fellow or crush him scornfully. 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 they had attributed to him a little while before. The Counselor, with military rudeness, brusquely turned his back on Julio, picked up the deck of cards and began dealing. Shunned by scornful silence, Julio felt tempted to disrupt the game with violence. Still, the hidden knee continued advising self-control, and an invisible hand had sought his own, pressing it sweetly. That was enough to make him recover his serenity.

The Counselor’s wife seemed to be absorbed in the card game. Julio also watched, a wicked smile contracting the lines of his mouth slightly as he thought, Captain, little do you know what awaits you!

On land, he would have never approached these men again, but life on a transatlantic liner, with its inevitable familiarity, induces forgetfulness. The following day, Erckmann and his friends came looking for Desnoyers and spoke flattering words to erase the irritating memory of the night before. He was a distinguished youth from a wealthy family, and all had shops and businesses in his country. The only thing was... he should be careful not to mention his French origin – he was an Argentinian.

The Germans began extolling the grandeur of his country and all the South American nations where they had agencies or investments, exaggerating their importance as though these young republics were great powers. They commented with gravity about the deeds and words of its political leaders, impressing on Julio that no one in Germany was unconcerned about the future of South America. They predicted a most glorious prosperity for the region, provided that they remained under the Germanic influence.

Despite all this flattery, Desnoyers no longer attended the nightly poker games with his former diligence. Erckmann’s wife had taken to retiring to her stateroom earlier than usual, as if the ship’s approach to the Equator had induced an irresistible desire for sleep. She had abandoned her husband to his card playing. Julio also had mysterious activities that prevented his appearance on deck until after midnight. With the motivation of a man who desires to be seen to avoid suspicion, he would enter the smoking room, talking loudly as he seated himself near the husband and his companions.

The game had ended, and the winners were celebrating with beer and fat cigars from Hamburg. It was the hour for Teutonic expansiveness, intimacy among men, ponderous jokes and bawdy anecdotes. The Counselor was presiding with great aplomb over his rowdy chums, prudent businessmen from the Hanseatic ports who had big accounts in the Deutsche Bank. He was a warrior, a captain, and on answering every jest with a laugh that distended his fat neck, he felt at home among his comrades at arms.

As they neared Europe, shocking news came to meet the boat. The operators in the telegraph room were working around the clock. One night as he entered the smoking room, Desnoyers saw the Germans gesticulating animatedly. They were no longer drinking beer and had uncorked bottles of champagne. Erckmann’s wife had not retired to her stateroom. Captain Erckmann, spotting the young Argentinian, offered him a glass. It is war, he shouted with enthusiasm. War at last – the hour has come!

Desnoyers looked on, astonished. War! What war? He had read a news bulletin posted outside that the Austrian government had just sent an ultimatum to Serbia, but it had not made the slightest impression on him. He was not at all interested in Balkan affairs – those were nothing but the quarrels of a miserable little nation monopolizing the world’s attention, distracting it from more practical matters. How could this event concern the Counselor? The two countries would soon come to an understanding. Diplomacy sometimes won the day.

No, insisted the German ferociously. It is war, blessed war. Russia will support Serbia, and we will support Austria, our ally. What will France do? Do you know what France will do? Julio shrugged his shoulders testily, as though asking to be left out of these international discussions.

It is war, insisted the Counselor, the preventive war we need. Russia is growing too fast and is preparing to fight with us. After four more years of peace, Russia will have finished building its strategic railroads, and its military power, combined with its allies, will be equal to ours. It is better to strike a powerful blow now. It is necessary to take advantage of this opportunity. Preventive war!

His compatriots listened in silence. Some did not appear to feel the same enthusiasm. They saw their businesses paralyzed by the war, their distributors bankrupt, and banks cutting down on credit. It was a catastrophe more frightful to them than the slaughter of battle. But they nodded and grunted in response to Erckmann’s ferocious demonstrations. He was a distinguished man and an officer. He must be a party to his country’s secrets, and that was enough to make them drink silently to the war’s success.

Julio thought that the Counselor and his admirers must be drunk. Look here, Captain, he said in a conciliatory tone, what you say is not logical. How could war possibly be acceptable to industrial Germany? Commerce grows daily, and every month it conquers a new market. Sixty years ago, it had to man its boats with Berlin hackney drivers in trouble with the police. Now its commercial fleets and war vessels cross every ocean, and the German merchant marine is always the largest presence in every port. Twenty more years of peace, and the Germans would be the kings of commerce, surpassing England in a bloodless struggle. Are they going to risk all this, like a gambler betting his entire fortune on a single card, for a war it might lose?

No, insisted the Counselor furiously, ... preventive war. We live surrounded by enemies, and this state of things cannot go on. It is best to end it at once. It’s either them or us! Germany feels strong enough to challenge the world. We’ve got to put an end to this Russian menace! And if the French don’t keep quiet, it will be much worse for them! And if anyone else... ANYONE dares oppose us, so much the worse for them! Whenever I set up a new machine in my factories, it must operate continuously. We have the finest army in the world, and it must be exercised, so it doesn’t atrophy. He continued emphatically. They have throttled us with chains. But Germany has a broad and strong chest and only needs to flex to burst these chains. We must wake up before they attack us in our sleep. Woe to those who oppose us!

Desnoyers felt obliged to reply to this arrogance. He had never seen the iron chains of which the Germans were complaining. Other countries were unwilling to continue living, unsuspecting and inactive, faced with boundless German ambition. They were simply preparing to defend themselves against an almost