Twenty-six and One, and Other Stories

In Short

This collection of short stories documents the lives of Russia’s "tramps"—the bakers, thieves, and fishermen who exist on the margins of society. Through raw, unvarnished prose, it depicts men and women living in damp cellars or on sun-scorched shores, caught between the crushing weight of poverty and an irrepressible, often illogical, desire for freedom. Because the author speaks from the experience of a life lived as a shoemaker’s apprentice, a cook’s boy, and a day laborer, the work pulses with a gritty, authentic resonance that defined a new era of Russian realism.

The Story

The narrative arc begins in the stifling, sunless depths of a bakery, where twenty-six men live like "living machines." Their only source of joy is a young chambermaid, Tanya, whose daily visits to the bakery window represent the only "pure" thing in their existence. Their collective obsession with her purity leads them into a bitter, high-stakes psychological game when a handsome, arrogant soldier boasts he can seduce her. This challenge forces the bakers to test their own ideals against their cynical reality. When they eventually witness the soldier’s success, their idol is shattered, and their resentment toward their own trapped condition boils over, highlighting the "grief of slaves" that defines their miserable, flour-dusted lives.

From the claustrophobia of the city, the focus shifts to the open, indifferent expanse of the seaside. Here, we encounter Grichka Tchelkache, an aging, hawk-faced thief who navigates the world with a predatory, solitary grace. He encounters a naive, desperate village lad named Gavrilo who dreams of saving enough money to buy his independence from a stifling family life. Tchelkache, seeing his own younger, more foolish self in the boy, manipulates him into helping with a dangerous smuggling job. As they row across the black, oil-like sea, the dynamic shifts from predator and prey to a strange, paternalistic connection. After successfully completing their crime, Tchelkache feels a fleeting, heroic surge of generosity and hands his earnings to the boy. However, when Gavrilo reacts with a groveling, desperate greed—begging for more money and fawning over his newfound wealth—Tchelkache is disgusted. He realizes that for all his own moral failings as a criminal, he possesses a core of freedom that the "honest" peasant, blinded by avarice, will never know.

Finally, the landscape centers on the fishing grounds, where the intense, mercurial Malva exerts a magnetic pull over the men around her. She lives with an older fisherman, Vassili, but their relationship is volatile and strained. When Vassili’s estranged, awkward son, Iakov, arrives looking for work and his father’s approval, a simmering tension explodes. The son is drawn to Malva, despite knowing the nature of her history with his father. Their interactions are marked by petty cruelty, sexual jealousy, and a pervasive, hot-blooded resentment. As the heat of the sun and the vastness of the sand amplify their frustrations, the family bonds disintegrate. In the end, the characters remain trapped in their cycles of desire and conflict, with the sea serving as a silent, laughing witness to their small, human tragedies.

How It Unfolds

The cellar entrapment Twenty-six workers exist in a windowless, damp basement where their only light is the presence of a girl named Tanya. They treat her as a fragile icon of purity until a soldier’s challenge forces them to gamble her dignity against their own self-worth.

The thief’s bargain Grichka Tchelkache, a seasoned criminal, finds an impressionable village boy and coerces him into a nighttime smuggling operation. They cross a dark, whispering sea, bound together by the dangerous cargo and the boy’s naive hope for future prosperity.

The shift in power Upon completing the job, Tchelkache is struck by a sudden, protective impulse for his companion. He hands over his earnings, but the boy’s subsequent display of craven greed deeply offends the thief’s sense of pride.

The beach of desire On a remote fishing stretch, the arrival of a young laborer complicates his father’s long-standing, tempestuous relationship with a woman named Malva. Passion and jealousy turn the father and son into bitter rivals, mirroring the wild, untamable nature of the sea nearby.

The final rupture Relationships shatter under the weight of pride and unrequited longing, leaving the characters isolated on the sand. While they continue their daily, grueling labor, the deeper, emotional connections have been permanently severed by their own inability to forgive or let go.

The People

Tchelkache is a seasoned, hawk-like thief whose life is defined by his detachment from the rigid, oppressive rules of society. He is a predator, yet he maintains a fierce, internal sense of liberty that makes him look down upon those who work for "the system."

Gavrilo is a naive, desperate peasant who wants nothing more than to escape the cycle of village poverty. His desire for money—the only tool he believes can buy his freedom—slowly transforms him into a groveling, greedy shadow of a man, ultimately losing the "freedom" he sought.

Malva is a woman of immense, sonorous vitality who lives entirely by her own rules. She is the object of desire for both father and son, yet she remains elusive and cynical, treating the men who flock to her like temporary amusements.

Vassili Legostev is an older, weary fisherman whose life is tethered to the sea and his possessive, volatile relationship with Malva. His struggle to maintain authority over his son, Iakov, reveals a man struggling with his own waning influence and fading relevance.

Iakov is the young, impressionable son of Vassili, desperate for a new life but quickly caught in the same cycle of anger and desire that defines his father. His transformation from a hopeful, if awkward, newcomer to a man full of "savage hatred" underscores the book’s cynical view of human change.

In Its Own Voice

"There were twenty-six of us--twenty-six living machines, locked up in a damp cellar, where we patted dough from morning till night, making biscuits and cakes."

The narrator reflects on the dehumanizing, mechanical existence of the bakers before the arrival of Tanya.

"The sea was sleeping the healthy sound sleep of the laborer after his day's work."

The narrator describes the calm, oil-like expanse of the ocean as the smugglers begin their illicit journey.

"I meant to have given you more. I pitied you yesterday. I thought of the village. I said to myself: 'I'll help this boy.'"

Tchelkache confronts Gavrilo on the beach, revealing his initial, misplaced paternal feelings toward the greedy young man.

What It's Really About

The central argument rests on the definition of freedom. To the author, freedom is not found in the acquisition of wealth or the fulfillment of bourgeois social roles; instead, it is a state of mind that requires a rejection of society's hollow moral codes. The stories pose a difficult question: is it better to live as a "criminal" with an untarnished sense of autonomy, or as an "honest" citizen who sells his soul for a few rubles? There is a persistent tension between the crushing, repetitive labor of the poor and the "imperishable and illogical desire for liberty" that keeps them moving, even when their choices lead only to further isolation.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the Russian tradition of deep, psychological realism—where the landscape is as much a character as the people—will find this collection deeply affecting. The writing is visceral and heavy with atmosphere; you can feel the humidity of the bakery and the salt spray of the sea. It is not an optimistic book, and it does not offer easy resolutions. The period attitudes toward women and the harsh, brutal nature of the male-dominated settings are presented without apology, reflecting the raw, often uncomfortable reality of the Russian underclass at the turn of the century.

However, the enduring power of the work lies in the author's ability to locate a strange, jagged nobility in the most broken people. The prose is unadorned and powerful, avoiding the sentimentality that often plagues stories about the poor. You will likely walk away thinking about the difference between the "freedom" of the thief and the "slavery" of the worker, a dichotomy that remains strikingly relevant. It is a demanding, occasionally grim read, but one that rewards the reader with a profound sense of having truly known the people who live in the shadows of the world.