“Possibly that which seems so shameful and guilty to me is regarded by others as the veriest trifle.
Suppose, for instance, that it was Lbov, not I, who came too late, and that I am now in the line and see him coming up.
Well, what more—what is there to make a fuss about? Lbov comes—that’s all it amounts to.
How stupid to grieve and get uncomfortable at such a petty incident, which within a month, perhaps even in a week, will be forgotten by all here present.
Besides, what is there in this life which is not forgotten?” Romashov remarked as he finished his argument with himself, and felt in some degree calm and consoled.
To every one’s astonishment this time Sliva spared Romashov from personal insults, nay, he even seemed not to have noticed him in the least.
When Romashov went up to him and saluted, with his heels together and his hand at his cap, he only said, pointing his red, withered fingers, which strongly resembled five little cold sausages:
“I must beg you, Sub-lieutenant, to remember that it is your duty to be with your company five minutes before the senior subaltern officers, and ten minutes before the chief of your company.”
“I am very sorry, Captain,” replied Romashov in a composed tone.
“That’s all very well, Sub-lieutenant, but you are always asleep and you seem to have quite forgotten the old adage:
‘He who is seldom awake must go about shabby.’
And I must now ask you, gentlemen, to retire to your respective companies.”
The whole company was split up into small groups, each of which was instructed in gymnastics.
The soldiers stood drawn up in open file at a distance of a pace apart, and with their uniforms unbuttoned in order to enable them to perform their gymnastic exercises.
Bobyliev, the smart subaltern officer stationed in Romashov’s platoon, cast a respectful glance at his commander, who was approaching, his lower jaw stuck out and his eyes squinting, and giving orders in a resonant voice—
“Hips steady. Rise on your toes.
Bend your knees.”
And directly after that, very softly and in a sing-song voice—
“Begin.”
“One,” sang out the soldiers in unison, and they simultaneously performed in slow time the order to bend the knees till the whole division found itself on its haunches. Bobyliev, who likewise performed the same movement, scrutinized the soldiers with severe, critical, and aggressive eyes.
Immediately beside him cried the little spasmodic corporal, Syeroshtan, in his sharp, squeaky voice that reminded one of a cockerel squabbling for food—
“Stretch your arms to the right—and left—salute.
Begin, one, two, one, two,” and directly afterwards ten smart young fellows were heard yelling at the top of their voices the regulation— “Hau, hau, hau.”
“Halt,” shouted Syeroshtan, red of face from rage and over-exertion.
“La-apschin, you great ass, you toss about, give yourself airs, and twist your arm like some old woman from Riasan—chou, chou.
Do the movements properly, or by all that’s unholy I’ll——”
After this the subalterns led their respective divisions at quick march to the gymnastic apparatus, which had been set up in different parts of the parade-ground.
Sub-lieutenant Lbov—young, strong, and agile, and also an expert gymnast—threw down his sabre and cap, and ran before the others to one of the bars.
Grasping the bar with both his hands, after three violent efforts he made a somersault in the air, threw himself forward and finally landed himself on all fours two yards and a half from the bar.
“Sub-lieutenant Lbov, at your everlasting circus tricks again,” shrieked Captain Sliva in a tone meant to be severe.
In his heart the old warrior cherished a sneaking affection for Lbov, who was a thoroughly efficient soldier, and, by his brave bearing, invaluable at parades.
“Be good enough to observe the regulation, and keep the other thing till Carnival comes round.”
“Right, Captain!” yelled Lbov in reply; “but I shan’t obey,” he whispered to Romashov with a wink.
The 4th platoon exercised on the inclined ladder.
The soldiers walked in turn to the ladder, gripped hold of the steps, and climbed up them with arms bent.
Shapovalenko stood below and made remarks—
“Keep your feet still.
Up with your soles.”
The turn now came to a little soldier in the left wing, whose name was Khliabnikov, who served as a butt to the entire company.
Whenever Romashov caught sight of him, he wondered how this emaciated, sorry figure, in height almost a dwarf, whose dirty little beardless face was but a little larger than a man’s fist, could have been admitted into the army.
And when he met Khliabnikov’s soulless eyes, which looked as if they had expressed nothing but a dull submissive fear ever since he was born, he felt in his heart a heavy, oppressive feeling of disgust and prick of conscience.
Khliabnikov hung motionless on the ladder like a dead, shapeless mass.
“Take a grip and raise yourself on your arms, you miserable dog!” shrieked the sergeant.
“Up with you, I say.”
Khliabnikov made a violent effort to show his obedience, but in vain. He remained in the same position, and his legs swung from side to side.
For the space of a second he turned downwards and sideways his ashen grey face, in which the dirty little turned-up nose obstinately turned upwards.
Suddenly he let go of the ladder and fell like a sack to the ground.
“Ho, ho, you refuse to obey orders, to make the movement you were ordered to do,” roared the sergeant; “but a scoundrel like you shall not destroy discipline.
Now you shall——”
“Shapovalenko, don’t touch him!” shouted Romashov, beside himself with anger and shame.