A high, blue Vienna coach with several horses was driving
at a smart trot, rumbling on its springs, along the broad unpaved high-road,
with trees planted on each side of it. The general’s suite and an escort of
Croats galloped after the coach. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general in a
white uniform, that looked strange among the black Russian ones. The coach drew
up on reaching the regiment. Kutuzov and the Austrian general were talking of
something in low voices, and Kutuzov smiled slightly as, treading heavily, he
put his foot on the carriage step, exactly as though those two thousand men
gazing breathlessly at him and at their general, did not exist at all.
The word of command rang out, again the
regiment quivered with a clanking sound as it presented arms. In the deathly
silence the weak voice of the commander-in-chief was audible. The regiment
roared: “Good health to your Ex .. lency .. lency .. lency!” And again all was
still. At first Kutuzov stood in one spot, while the regiment moved; then
Kutuzov began walking on foot among the ranks, the white general beside him,
followed by his suite.
From the way that the general in command of
the regiment saluted the commander-in-chief, fixing his eyes intently on him,
rigidly respectful and obsequious, from the way in which, craning forward, he
followed the generals through the ranks, with an effort restraining his
quivering strut, and darted up at every word and every gesture of the
commander-in-chief,—it was evident that he performed his duties as a
subordinate with even greater zest than his duties as a commanding officer.
Thanks to the strictness and assiduity of its commander, the regiment was in
excellent form as compared with the others that had arrived at Braunau at the
same time. The sick and the stragglers left behind only numbered two hundred
and seventeen, and everything was in good order except the soldiers’ boots.
没有评论:
发表评论