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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Come and see," cried one of the beasts in a stentorian tone to the vision-seeing poet. . . . And the first horseman appeared on a white horse. In his hand he carried a bow, and a crown was given unto him. He was Conquest, according to some, the Plague according to others. He might be both things at the same time. He wore a crown, and that was enough for Tchernoff.
And he chuckled within himself as was his peasant's habit when mightily pleased. Truly, that meeting with the Tsar's valet Tchernoff was quite as fateful to Russia as the meeting with the neurotic spiritualistic Empress herself. ABOUT a week after Rasputin's first audience of the Empress Alexandra, the Bishop Theophanus, confessor of the Imperial family, paid him a visit at the Poltavskaya.
Retreating immediately, they had swept away the past like a tidal wave the great surf depositing all that it contained. Like the waters of certain rivers which fructify by overflowing, this recession of the human tide had left the soil enriched with new and generous ideas. "If THEY should return!" added Tchernoff with a look of uneasiness.
And when his friends were threatening him with revolution, the ferocious Junker, merely put his hands on his hips and roared with the most insolent of horse laughs. A revolution in Prussia! . . . Nothing at all, as he knew his people!" Tchernoff was not a patriot.
His rider was called Death, and power was given him to destroy with the sword and with hunger and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. The four horsemen were beginning their mad, desolating course over the heads of terrified humanity. Tchernoff was describing the four scourges of the earth exactly as though he were seeing them.
Desnoyers, who had been listening with great interest, now gave a start of surprise, saying to himself, "This Tchernoff has been drinking." "Civilization," continued the Socialist, "does not consist merely in great industry, in many ships, armies and numerous universities that only teach science. That is material civilization.
To think that he could not join that expedition! . . . He believed that he had lost the opportunity to paint his masterpiece. Just outside of his home, he met Tchernoff. Don Marcelo was in high good humor. The certainty that he was soon going to see his son filled him with boyish good spirits.
He was delighted to have Tchernoff consume these souvenirs of the time when he was living at swords' points with his son. After sampling the wine from the avenue Victor Hugo, the Russian would indulge in a visionary loquacity similar to that of the night when he evoked the fantastic cavalcade of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
She appeared like another woman, with an old look as though in these agonizing hours she had been suffering for fifteen years. In vain the kindly Tchernoff had tried to cheer her up, urging her to accept quietly her husband's absence so as not to harm the little one who was coming. "For the unhappy creature is going to be a mother," he said sadly.
To please his father, he had related the facts to the senator, to Argensola and to Tchernoff in his studio, and to other family friends. . . . He simply could not do it again. So the father began the narration on his own account, giving the relief and details of the deed as though seen with his own eyes. . . . He had to take possession of the ruins of a sugar refinery in front of the trench.
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