Several violent thumps of a fist on the door followed.
“Shatov, Shatov, open!” yelled the captain. “Shatov, friend!
‘I have come, to thee to tell thee
That the sun doth r-r-rise apace,
That the forest glows and tr-r-rembles
In … the fire of … his … embrace.
Tell thee I have waked, God damn thee,
Wakened under the birch-twigs.…’
(“As it might be under the birch-rods, ha ha!”)
‘Every little bird … is … thirsty,
Says I’m going to … have a drink,
But I don’t … know what to drink.…’
“Damn his stupid curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how good it is to be alive!”
“Don’t answer!” Shatov whispered to me again.
“Open the door! Do you understand that there’s something higher than brawling … in mankind; there are moments of an hon-hon-honourable man.… Shatov, I’m good; I’ll forgive you.… Shatov, damn the manifestoes, eh?”
Silence.
“Do you understand, you ass, that I’m in love, that I’ve bought a dress-coat, look, the garb of love, fifteen roubles; a captain’s love calls for the niceties of style.… Open the door!” he roared savagely all of a sudden, and he began furiously banging with his fists again.