The Beggar
by Anton Chekhov
The Beggar (1887) tells of a lawyer who hires a street beggar to chop wood as an act of moral reform—but years later discovers that the real agent of change was someone entirely unexpected. "I am grateful to you. But it was not you who saved me."
"KIND sir, be so good as to notice a poor, hungry man. I have not tasted food for three days. I have not a five-kopeck piece for a night's lodging. I swear by God! For five years I was a village schoolmaster and lost my post through the intrigues of the Zemstvo. I was the victim of false witness. I have been out of a place for a year now."
Skvortsov, a Petersburg lawyer, looked at the speaker's tattered dark blue overcoat, at his muddy, drunken eyes, at the red patches on his cheeks, and it seemed to him that he had seen the man before.
"And now I am offered a post in the Kaluga province," the beggar continued, "but I have not the means for the journey there. Graciously help me! I am ashamed to ask, but . . . I am compelled by circumstances."
Skvortsov looked at his goloshes, of which one was shallow like a shoe, while the other came high up the leg like a boot, and suddenly remembered.
"Listen, the day before yesterday I met you in Sadovoy Street," he said, "and then you told me, not that you were a village schoolmaster, but that you were a student who had been expelled. Do you remember?"
"N-o. No, that cannot be so!" the beggar muttered in confusion. "I am a village schoolmaster, and if you wish it I can show you documents to prove it."
"That's enough lies! You called yourself a student, and even told me what you were expelled for. Do you remember?"
Skvortsov flushed, and with a look of disgust on his face turned away from the ragged figure.
"It's contemptible, sir!" he cried angrily. "It's a swindle! I'll hand you over to the police, damn you! You are poor and hungry, but that does not give you the right to lie so shamelessly!"
The ragged figure took hold of the door-handle and, like a bird in a snare, looked round the hall desperately.
"I . . . I am not lying," he muttered. "I can show documents."
"Who can believe you?" Skvortsov went on, still indignant. "To exploit the sympathy of the public for village schoolmasters and students -- it's so low, so mean, so dirty! It's revolting!"
Skvortsov flew into a rage and gave the beggar a merciless scolding. The ragged fellow's insolent lying aroused his disgust and aversion, was an offence against what he, Skvortsov, loved and prized in himself: kindliness, a feeling heart, sympathy for the unhappy. By his lying, by his treacherous assault upon compassion, the individual had, as it were, defiled the charity which he liked to give to the poor with no misgivings in his heart. The beggar at first defended himself, protested with oaths, then he sank into silence and hung his head, overcome with shame.
"Sir!" he said, laying his hand on his heart, "I really was . . . lying! I am not a student and not a village schoolmaster. All that's mere invention! I used to be in the Russian choir, and I was turned out of it for drunkenness. But what can I do? Believe me, in God's name, I can't get on without lying -- when I tell the truth no one will give me anything. With the truth one may die of hunger and freeze without a night's lodging! What you say is true, I understand that, but . . . what am I to do?"
"What are you to do? You ask what are you to do?" cried Skvortsov, going close up to him. "Work -- that's what you must do! You must work!"
"Work. . . . I know that myself, but where can I get work?"
"Nonsense. You are young, strong, and healthy, and could always find work if you wanted to. But you know you are lazy, pampered, drunken! You reek of vodka like a pothouse! You have become false and corrupt to the marrow of your bones and fit for nothing but begging and lying! If you do graciously condescend to take work, you must have a job in an office, in the Russian choir, or as a billiard-marker, where you will have a salary and have nothing to do! But how would you like to undertake manual labour? I'll be bound, you wouldn't be a house porter or a factory hand! You are too genteel for that!"
"What things you say, really . . ." said the beggar, and he gave a bitter smile. "How can I get manual work? It's rather late for me to be a shopman, for in trade one has to begin from a boy; no one would take me as a house porter, because I am not of that class. . . . And I could not get work in a factory; one must know a trade, and I know nothing."
"Nonsense! You always find some justification! Wouldn't you like to chop wood?"
"I would not refuse to, but the regular woodchoppers are out of work now."
"Oh, all idlers argue like that! As soon as you are offered anything you refuse it. Would you care to chop wood for me?"
"Certainly I will. . ."
"Very good, we shall see. . . . Excellent. We'll see!" Skvortsov, in nervous haste; and not without malignant pleasure, rubbing his hands, summoned his cook from the kitchen.
"Here, Olga," he said to her, "take this gentleman to the shed and let him chop some wood."
The beggar shrugged his shoulders as though puzzled, and irresolutely followed the cook. It was evident from his demeanour that he had consented to go and chop wood, not because he was hungry and wanted to earn money, but simply from shame and amour propre, because he had been taken at his word. It was clear, too, that he was suffering from the effects of vodka, that he was unwell, and felt not the faintest inclination to work.
Skvortsov hurried into the dining-room. There from the window which looked out into the yard he could see the woodshed and everything that happened in the yard. Standing at the window, Skvortsov saw the cook and the beggar come by the back way into the yard and go through the muddy snow to the woodshed. Olga scrutinized her companion angrily, and jerking her elbow unlocked the woodshed and angrily banged the door open.
"Most likely we interrupted the woman drinking her coffee," thought Skvortsov. "What a cross creature she is!"
Then he saw the pseudo-schoolmaster and pseudo-student seat himself on a block of wood, and, leaning his red cheeks upon his fists, sink into thought. The cook flung an axe at his feet, spat angrily on the ground, and, judging by the expression of her lips, began abusing him. The beggar drew a log of wood towards him irresolutely, set it up between his feet, and diffidently drew the axe across it. The log toppled and fell over. The beggar drew it towards him, breathed on his frozen hands, and again drew the axe along it as cautiously as though he were afraid of its hitting his golosh or chopping off his fingers. The log fell over again.
Skvortsov's wrath had passed off by now, he felt sore and ashamed at the thought that he had forced a pampered, drunken, and perhaps sick man to do hard, rough work in the cold.
"Never mind, let him go on . . ." he thought, going from the dining-room into his study. "I am doing it for his good!"
An hour later Olga appeared and announced that the wood had been chopped up.
"Here, give him half a rouble," said Skvortsov. "If he likes, let him come and chop wood on the first of every month. . . . There will always be work for him."
On the first of the month the beggar turned up and again earned half a rouble, though he could hardly stand. From that time forward he took to turning up frequently, and work was always found for him: sometimes he would sweep the snow into heaps, or clear up the shed, at another he used to beat the rugs and the mattresses. He always received thirty to forty kopecks for his work, and on one occasion an old pair of trousers was sent out to him.
When he moved, Skvortsov engaged him to assist in packing and moving the furniture. On this occasion the beggar was sober, gloomy, and silent; he scarcely touched the furniture, walked with hanging head behind the furniture vans, and did not even try to appear busy; he merely shivered with the cold, and was overcome with confusion when the men with the vans laughed at his idleness, feebleness, and ragged coat that had once been a gentleman's. After the removal Skvortsov sent for him.
"Well, I see my words have had an effect upon you," he said, giving him a rouble. "This is for your work. I see that you are sober and not disinclined to work. What is your name?"
"Lushkov."
"I can offer you better work, not so rough, Lushkov. Can you write?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then go with this note to-morrow to my colleague and he will give you some copying to do. Work, don't drink, and don't forget what I said to you. Good-bye."
Skvortsov, pleased that he had put a man in the path of rectitude, patted Lushkov genially on the shoulder, and even shook hands with him at parting.
Lushkov took the letter, departed, and from that time forward did not come to the back-yard for work.
Two years passed. One day as Skvortsov was standing at the ticket-office of a theatre, paying for his ticket, he saw beside him a little man with a lambskin collar and a shabby cat's-skin cap. The man timidly asked the clerk for a gallery ticket and paid for it with kopecks.
"Lushkov, is it you?" asked Skvortsov, recognizing in the little man his former woodchopper. "Well, what are you doing? Are you getting on all right?"
"Pretty well. . . . I am in a notary's office now. I earn thirty-five roubles."
"Well, thank God, that's capital. I rejoice for you. I am very, very glad, Lushkov. You know, in a way, you are my godson. It was I who shoved you into the right way. Do you remember what a scolding I gave you, eh? You almost sank through the floor that time. Well, thank you, my dear fellow, for remembering my words."
"Thank you too," said Lushkov. "If I had not come to you that day, maybe I should be calling myself a schoolmaster or a student still. Yes, in your house I was saved, and climbed out of the pit."
"I am very, very glad."
"Thank you for your kind words and deeds. What you said that day was excellent. I am grateful to you and to your cook, God bless that kind, noble-hearted woman. What you said that day was excellent; I am indebted to you as long as I live, of course, but it was your cook, Olga, who really saved me."
"How was that?"
"Why, it was like this. I used to come to you to chop wood and she would begin: 'Ah, you drunkard! You God-forsaken man! And yet death does not take you!' and then she would sit opposite me, lamenting, looking into my face and wailing: 'You unlucky fellow! You have no gladness in this world, and in the next you will burn in hell, poor drunkard! You poor sorrowful creature!' and she always went on in that style, you know. How often she upset herself, and how many tears she shed over me I can't tell you. But what affected me most -- she chopped the wood for me! Do you know, sir, I never chopped a single log for you -- she did it all! How it was she saved me, how it was I changed, looking at her, and gave up drinking, I can't explain. I only know that what she said and the noble way she behaved brought about a change in my soul, and I shall never forget it. It's time to go up, though, they are just going to ring the bell."
Lushkov bowed and went off to the gallery.
Frequently Asked Questions about The Beggar
What is the main plot of 'The Beggar' by Anton Chekhov?
"The Beggar" tells the story of Skvortsov, a Petersburg lawyer, who encounters a ragged, drunken beggar named Lushkov begging with fabricated tales of being a former schoolmaster. Skvortsov catches him in his lies and, rather than giving a handout, offers him work chopping wood. Lushkov returns monthly for odd jobs and eventually secures a copyist position through Skvortsov's connections. Two years later, they meet at a theatre where Lushkov reveals that it was not Skvortsov's stern lectures but Olga, the cook, whose compassion and secret self-sacrifice truly transformed his life.
Who is the true savior of Lushkov in Chekhov's 'The Beggar'?
The twist ending reveals that Olga, Skvortsov's cook, is the person who truly saves Lushkov from his life of begging and alcoholism. Although Skvortsov believes his moral lectures and offer of work reformed the beggar, Lushkov confesses that Olga chopped all the wood herself while he took the credit and the pay. More importantly, her genuine emotional suffering on his behalf -- weeping, lamenting his fate, and warning him about the consequences of his drinking -- created an authentic human connection that moved him to change. Chekhov uses this revelation to distinguish between self-congratulatory charity and transformative compassion.
What are the major themes in 'The Beggar' by Anton Chekhov?
Chekhov weaves several interconnected themes throughout "The Beggar." The central theme is the transformative power of genuine compassion versus hollow moralizing -- Skvortsov's righteous lectures fail where Olga's empathetic suffering succeeds. The story also explores pride and self-deception, as Skvortsov proudly considers himself Lushkov's "godson" without knowing the truth. Additional themes include the dignity of labor, the nature of true charity, and the idea that redemption comes through authentic human connection rather than through shame or obligation.
What is the significance of the twist ending in 'The Beggar'?
The ending of "The Beggar" delivers a characteristic Chekhovian irony when Lushkov reveals that he never chopped a single log of wood -- Olga did it all. This revelation dismantles Skvortsov's self-satisfied belief that his tough-love approach reformed the beggar. Chekhov uses this twist to expose how people often take credit for goodness they did not actually perform. The surprise also elevates Olga, a minor character who appeared merely angry and disagreeable, into the story's moral center. It suggests that quiet, unglamorous acts of kindness are more powerful than grand gestures of charity.
How does Chekhov use irony in 'The Beggar'?
Irony operates on multiple levels in "The Beggar." Situational irony is the story's backbone: Skvortsov, who prides himself on reforming Lushkov through stern moral lessons, learns that his cook did the actual saving. There is dramatic irony in Skvortsov's self-congratulatory speech at the theatre -- the reader senses his pride is misplaced before the truth emerges. Chekhov also employs verbal irony when Skvortsov calls Lushkov "my godson," a term of spiritual mentorship that proves entirely unearned. Even Olga's apparent cruelty -- scolding, spitting, and abusing Lushkov -- is ironic, as it masks the deepest kindness in the story.
What role does Olga the cook play in 'The Beggar'?
Olga initially appears as a minor, disagreeable character -- she scrutinizes Lushkov angrily, bangs open the woodshed door, and seems to resent his presence. However, the ending reveals her as the story's true hero. She secretly chopped all the wood herself, allowing Lushkov to collect the wages. More crucially, she sat with him, wept over his condition, and lamented his spiritual destruction. Olga represents Chekhov's belief that genuine compassion often comes from unexpected sources and manifests not as polished charity but as raw, emotional human connection. Her suffering on Lushkov's behalf is what finally penetrates his shame and inspires real change.
What is the moral lesson of 'The Beggar' by Chekhov?
The central moral of "The Beggar" is that authentic compassion transforms people more effectively than righteous moralizing. Skvortsov offers Lushkov work and lectures him about the virtues of labor, believing this stern approach will reform him. But it is Olga, who weeps for him, suffers with him, and secretly does his work, who actually changes his soul. Chekhov also teaches that we should not be too quick to claim credit for others' improvement. The story warns against the self-satisfaction that comes from performative charity and suggests that the truest acts of kindness are often invisible and unrewarded.
How does Lushkov change throughout 'The Beggar'?
Lushkov undergoes a profound transformation across the story. He begins as a ragged, drunken beggar who fabricates elaborate lies -- claiming to be an expelled student one day and a dismissed schoolmaster the next -- to extract sympathy money. When forced to chop wood, he is so debilitated by alcohol that he cannot even swing an axe properly. Over months of returning for work, he gradually stops drinking. By the story's end, he has secured a respectable position as a copyist in a notary's office earning thirty-five roubles. His transformation is credited not to willpower or Skvortsov's scolding, but to Olga's compassionate suffering that awakened his dormant conscience.
When was 'The Beggar' by Anton Chekhov written?
"The Beggar" was written in 1887, during 's early prolific period when he was producing dozens of short stories each year. At this time, Chekhov was transitioning from humorous sketches to the more psychologically complex realist fiction that would define his legacy. The story reflects his growing interest in exploring moral ambiguity and the gap between people's self-image and reality. It was originally published in Russian and has since been translated widely, becoming one of Chekhov's most frequently taught short stories, particularly in secondary education curricula around the world.
How does Chekhov contrast Skvortsov and Olga in 'The Beggar'?
Chekhov constructs a deliberate contrast between two forms of helping. Skvortsov represents intellectual, moralistic charity -- he scolds Lushkov, lectures him on the virtues of honest labor, and arranges employment with a sense of self-righteous satisfaction. He later proudly claims credit: "It was I who shoved you into the right way." Olga represents instinctive, emotional compassion -- she weeps, laments, scolds from genuine anguish, and secretly performs the labor herself. Skvortsov's approach addresses behavior; Olga's reaches the soul. Through this contrast, Chekhov argues that empathy and shared suffering are more redemptive than moral instruction, no matter how well-intentioned.
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