The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, [email protected].

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




CHAPTER I
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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