“仁慈的老爺！行行好，諸顧念一下我這個不幸的挨餓的人。我三天沒吃東西了……身無分文，沒有住處……向上帝起誓！我當了八年的鄉村教師，后來由于地方自治局搞鬼丟了職位。我成了誣告的犧牲品。這一年來，我沒有工作，失業了。”
律師斯克沃爾佐夫打量著這個求告的人，瞧瞧他那件灰藍色的破大衣，混濁的醉眼和臉上的紅斑，他覺得以前好像在什么地方見過這個人。
“現在卡盧加省有人為我謀到一份差事，”那人繼續道，“可是我連去那里的盤纏都沒有。請幫幫忙，行行好！真不好意思求人，不過，出于環境的逼迫……”
斯克沃爾佐夫又瞧瞧他的雨鞋：雨鞋一只高腰，一只淺幫。這下他突然記起來了。
“听著，在前天，我好像在花園街遇見過您，”他說，“不過那時您對我說您是被開除的大學生，沒有說是鄉村教師，還記得嗎？”
“不……不，不可能！”求告者慌亂地小聲嘟噥，“我是鄉村教師，如果您愿意的話，我可以拿證件給您看。”
“別瞎扯了！那天您自稱是大學生，甚至告訴我校方為什么開除您，還記得嗎？”
斯克沃爾佐夫漲紅了臉，帶著一臉不屑的神情從這個破衣爛鞋、形同乞丐的人身邊走開。
“這很下流，先生！”他生气地喊道，“這是詐騙！我可以把您送警察局去，真見鬼！您貧窮，您挨餓，但是這不成其為您可以這么卑鄙無恥地撒謊的理由！”
破衣人抓住門把手，像被捉住的賊，神色慌張地打量著門廳。
“我……我沒有說謊，先生……”他小聲嘟噥，“我可以拿證件給您看。”
“誰能相信您？”斯克沃爾佐夫繼續气憤地說，“騙取社會對鄉村教師和大學生的好感--要知道這樣做是多么下流，卑鄙，無恥！真是可惡之极！”
斯克沃爾佐夫大發脾气，毫不留情地痛斥這個求告的人。對方的無恥謊言喚起他嫌棄和厭惡的心情，侮辱了他，斯克沃爾佐夫十分喜愛和看重自身就有 的品德：善良，敏感的心，對不幸的人們的同情。這家伙一味說謊，利用別人的仁慈，恰恰褻讀了他出于純洁的心靈喜歡周濟窮人的一片好意。破衣人起先一再辯 解，對天發誓，但后來不作聲了，羞愧得低下了頭。
“先生！”他說，一手按到胸口，“确實，我……說了謊！我不是大學生，也不是鄉村教師。這些都是胡編的！我原來在俄羅斯合唱團里任職，由于酗 酒，我被赶了出來。可是叫我有什么辦法？蒼天在上，請您相信：不說謊是不行的！我若說真話，誰也不會施舍我什么。說真話就得餓死，沒有住處就得凍死！您說 的那些都對，我明白，可是……叫我有什么辦法呢？”
“什么辦法？您問您有什么辦法？”斯克沃爾佐夫大喝一聲，逼近他，“工作呀，這就是辦法！您應該工作！”
“工作……這個我自己也明白，可是上哪儿去找工作呀？”
“胡說！您年輕，健康，有力气，任何時候都能找到工作，只要您愿意。可是您懶惰，嬌生慣養，還酗酒！您身上就像小酒館那樣，冒出一股子白酒气 味。您謊話連篇，放蕩成性，你的本事就會像叫化子那樣到處乞討，胡說八道！如果您屈尊什么時候想去工作，那也得給您找一個可以不做事白領薪水的部門，比如 說坐机關，去合唱團，或者當個台球記分員等等。您是否樂意從事体力勞動？恐怕您不會去當看門人或者工人吧！您這种人可是自命不凡的！”
“您怎么能這樣說，真是的……”求告者說完苦笑了，“叫我上哪儿去找体力活儿呢？去當店伙計我已經遲了，固為學生意一般都從學徒干起；去當看門人吧，誰也不會要我，因為我不喜歡別人對我指手划腳……工厂也不會要我，工人要有手藝，我卻什么也不會。”
“胡說！您總能找到借口！那么，您愿意去劈柴嗎？”
“我倒不反對，可是如今連地道的劈柴工都閒著沒飯吃了。”
“哼，所有的寄生虫都這么說。真要建議您干什么，您都會拒絕。那么就在我家里劈柴您愿意嗎？”
“好吧，我可以劈……”
“好，咱們走著瞧……很好……日后會見分曉的！”
斯克沃爾佐夫張羅起來，他不無幸災樂禍地搓著手，把廚房里的廚娘叫了出來。
“是這樣，奧莉加，”他對她說，“把這位先生領到板棚里去，讓他劈木柴。”
破衣人聳聳肩膀，似乎有點摸不著頭腦，猶豫不決地跟著廚娘去了。從他的步態上可以看出，他之所以同意去劈柴倒不是因為他餓著肚子想掙錢糊口， 只是礙于面子，不好意思，因為他說出的話被人抓住，不得不去兌現。同樣可以看出，他平時酒喝多了，身体十分虛弱，恐怕有病，另外對干活絲毫沒有興致。
斯克沃爾佐夫赶緊走進餐室。那里的窗子正對著院子，可以看到堆放木柴的板棚里和院里發生的一切。斯克沃爾佐夫站在窗前，看到廚娘和那人從側門 進了院子，踩著肮髒的雪朝板棚走去。奧莉加气呼呼地打量她的同伴，把胳膊時向兩旁甩著，打開鎖著的板棚，砰一聲惡狠狠地推開了門。
“大概我們妨礙這女人喝咖啡了，”斯克沃爾佐夫想道，“這么個凶婆娘！”
接下去他看到，那個冒牌教師和冒牌大學生坐到木墩子上，用拳頭支著紅腮幫，想起心事來。廚娘把一把斧子扔到他腳旁，惡狠狠地啐了一口，而且， 看她嘴的動作可知，她開始罵人了。破衣人遲遲疑疑地拉過一塊木柴，把它放在兩腿中間，膽怯地用斧子砍下去。木柴搖晃起來，倒了。那人又把它拉過來，朝凍僵 的手上哈一口气，又用斧子很小心地砍下去，生怕砍著自己的雨鞋或者砍掉手指。木柴又倒下了。
斯克沃爾佐夫的气憤已經消散，這時他感到有點不安，有點慚愧，也許他不該逼著這個嬌生慣養、可能還有病的酒鬼在寒冷的板棚里干這种粗活。
“哎，也沒什么，讓他干去吧……”他又想，离開餐室回到書房里，“我這樣做是為了他好。”
一小時后，奧莉加來了，報告說，木柴已經劈好了。
“拿著，把這半盧布交給他，”斯克沃爾佐夫說，“要是他愿意，讓他每月的頭一天都來劈柴……活儿總是有的。”
到了下月一號，那個破衣爛鞋、形同乞丐的人又來了，又掙了半盧布，雖說他的腿勉強才站得穩。從此以后，他開始經常出現在院子里，每一回都為他 找些活儿干：有時把雪掃成堆，有時收拾板棚里的雜物，有時打掉地毯和床墊上的塵土，每一回他都能拿到自己的勞動報酬二十到四十戈比，有一次主人甚至送給他 一條舊褲子。
斯克沃爾佐夫搬家的時候，雇他來幫忙收拾東西，搬運家具。這一回，破衣人沒有喝酒，神色陰沉，很少說話。他几乎沒有碰過家具，低著頭跟在貨車 后面，甚至也不想裝出一副肯干的樣子，光是冷得縮著脖子。當那几個赶車人取笑他的懶散、沒力气和那件貴重的破大衣時，他常常窘得手足無措。搬運完之后，斯 克沃爾佐夫吩咐人把他找來。
“噢，我看得出來，我的話對您起了作用，”他說著；遞給他一個盧布，“這是給您的工錢。我看得出來，您沒有喝酒，也不反對工作。您叫什么？”
“盧什科夫。”
“那么，盧什科夫，我現在介紹您去做另一份工作，干淨一些的工作。您會抄寫嗎？”
“會，先生。”
“好的，您拿上這封信，明天去找我的一個同行，他會給您一份抄寫的工作。好好工作，把酒戒了，別忘了我對您說過的話。再見吧！”
斯克沃爾佐夫很是得意：自己總算把這個人拉到正道上。他親切地拍了一下盧什科夫的肩膀，分別時甚至朝他伸出手去。盧什科夫拿了信就走了，此后再也沒有到這家人家里來干活。
兩年過去了。有一天，斯克沃爾佐夫站在劇院的售票處付錢買票的時候，看到身旁站著一個身材矮小的人，翻著羊羔皮領子，戴一頂舊的海狗皮帽子。這個矮小的人怯生生地向售票員要一張頂層樓座的票，付了几枚五戈比銅幣。
“盧什科夫，是您呀？”斯克沃爾佐夫問，認出這個人就是他家以前的劈柴工，“喂，怎么樣？現在做什么事？日子過得好吧？”
“還可以，現在我在一位公證人那里工作，每月拿三十五個盧布，先生。”
“哦，謝天謝地。太好了！我為您感到高興，非常非常高興，盧什科夫！要知道您在某种程度上可以說是我的教子。要知道這是我把您推上了正道。您還記得我當時如何痛斥您嗎？您那時在我面前窘得恨不得找個地縫鑽進去。好了，謝謝，親愛的朋友，謝謝您沒有忘了我的話。”
“我是要謝謝您，”盧什科夫說，“如果當初我不去找您，也許至今我還在冒充教師或者大學生。是的，我在您那里得救了，跳出了陷餅。”
“我非常非常高興！”
“謝謝您那些好心的話和好心的行動。您那時講得很出色。我既感激您，也感激您家的廚娘，求上帝保佑這個善良而高尚的女人身体健康！您那時講得很正确，這一點，我當然至死都感激不盡。不過，說實在的，真正救我的是您家的廚娘奧莉加。”
“這是怎么回事？”
“是這樣。當初我去您家劈柴，我一到，她總是這樣開始：‘唉，你這個酒鬼！你這個天地不容的人！你怎么不死呀！’然后坐在我對面，發起愁來， 瞧著我的臉，哭著說：‘你是個不幸的人！你活在世上沒有一點快活，就是到了另一個世界，你這酒鬼，也要下地獄，也要遭火燒！你這苦命人啊！’您知道，盡是 這類的話。她為我耗了多少心血，為我流了多少眼淚，這些我沒法對您說。但重要的是，她替我劈柴！要知道，先生，我在您家里連一根柴也沒有劈過，全是她劈 的！為什么她要挽救我，為什么我瞧著她就決心痛改前非，不再酗酒，這些我對您也解釋不清。我只知道，她的那些話和高尚的行為使我的心靈起了變化，是她挽救 了我，這件事我永世不忘。不過現在該入場了，里面正在打鈴。”
盧什科夫鞠躬告辭，找他的樓座去了。
一八八七年一月十九日
------------------
"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.
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