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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Poor children, poor children! It must be a dreadful trouble to have such a father! Borenka, my angel, I cannot lie when I see your face. You must excuse me. . . . What my depravity has come to, my God. Here I have just been robbing you, and put you to shame with my drunken state; I am robbing your brothers, too, and put them to shame, and you should have seen me yesterday!
It's my way, you know, when I want to screen my vices I throw all the blame on my innocent children. I can't tell lies and hide things from you, Borenka. I came to see you as proud as a peacock, but when I saw your gentleness and kind heart, my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, and it upset my conscience completely." "Hush, father, let's talk of something else."
He speaks French, he speaks German, and talks better than any of your lawyers one is never tired of listening. My children, my children, I can't believe that you are mine! I can't believe it! You are a martyr, my Borenka, I am ruining you, and I shall go on ruining you. . . . You give to me endlessly, though you know your money is thrown away.
Old Musatov took a nondescript rag out of his pocket and wiped his shaven, battered face with it. "I have come only for a minute, Borenka, my angel," he went on, not looking at his son, "about something very important. Excuse me, perhaps I am hindering you. Haven't you ten roubles, my dear, you could let me have till Tuesday?
I won't conceal it, Borenka. Some neighbours, a wretched crew, came to see my virago; I got drunk, too, with them, and I blackguarded you poor children for all I was worth. I abused you, and complained that you had abandoned me. I wanted, you see, to touch the drunken hussies' hearts, and pose as an unhappy father.
"Where's Sonya now?" he asked. "Still at boarding-school?" "No, she left in May, and is living now with Sasha's mother-in-law." "There!" said the old man in surprise. "She is a jolly good girl! So she is following her brother's example. . . . Ah, Borenka, she has no mother, no one to rejoice over her! I say, Borenka, does she . . . does she know how I am living? Eh?" Boris made no answer.
Ah, Borenka, Borenka! I understand it all and feel it!" "Have you moved into new lodgings?" his son interrupted, to change the conversation. "Yes, my boy. I move every month. My virago can't stay long in the same place with her temper." "I went to your lodgings, I meant to ask you to stay here with me. In your state of health it would do you good to be in the fresh air."
Thanks for the money, but don't believe the letters; I was telling fibs. I am ashamed to rob you, my angel; I know that you can scarcely make both ends meet yourself, and feed on locusts, but my impudence is too much for me. I am such a specimen of impudence fit for a show! . . . You must excuse me, Borenka. I tell you the truth, because I can't see your angel face without emotion."
When, after dismissing the cab, they made their way across a long, filthy yard to the "virago's" lodging, the old man put on an utterly shamefaced and guilty air, and began timidly clearing his throat and clicking with his lips. "Borenka," he said in an ingratiating voice, "if my virago begins saying anything, don't take any notice . . . and behave to her, you know, affably.
You can't draw a dung-beetle to a rose. But it's time I was going, my boy. It's getting dark." "Wait a minute then, I'll come with you. I have to go to town to-day myself." Both put on their overcoats and went out. When a little while afterwards they were driving in a cab, it was already dark, and lights began to gleam in the windows. "I've robbed you, Borenka!" the father muttered.
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