They say a cat has nine lives.
Every now and then we watch a fleeting life used up as the household moggie takes a jump from a precipice, or loses a small clump of tail hair to a car’s wheels; or shoots up a vertical wall out of the jaws of a furious slathering rottweiler.
But so many of these lives are used when we are not looking, oblivious of Death’s scythe cheated of its quarry once again.
Could it be that there are humans with more than nine lives? Creatures who walk just as we do, and talk with their compatriots in similar tones, yet they carry a relative of immortality with them?
Take the first Tsar of Russia, back in the sixteenth century.
How many lives did Ivan IV Vasilyevich, Grand Prince of Moscow have, lives about which we know less than nothing?
It does not do to be appointed to be a great political leader at the age of three. Not in Russia. The knives of the Boyars are out almost before one has had the time to spout one’s first word and play with one’s first toy sword.
His father died of a poisoned boil to his leg, leaving little Ivan in charge.
But his mother was still healthy and influential enough to act as regent: or so she thought. When Ivan was eight, someone saw fit to poison her.
How was Ivan still alive? And more to the point, how did he survive the years between his eighth and his sixteenth years?
Survive he did, however. His first years of rule were filled with peaceful reform, the introduction of legislature and the creation of a standing army. Then he began to address trade issues, opening ports up to the English; defeating old enemies the mediaeval tartar state Kazan Khanate.
He united Mother Russia into one: he created the title of Caesar, or Tsar. A writer and poet, he has been saluted as a pamphleteer of genius by Russian political historian DS Mirsky.
In between the lines, though, there were tales of terrible rages and mental illness.
A little legendary anecdote for you, one among many: he had a great cathedral built to celebrate the capture of Kazan. The great and beautiful structure which graced Moscow, designed by Postnik Yakovlev, brought many to tears with its beauty and magnificence. It was the wonder of all who surveyed it.
How did Ivan IV choose to thank its supremely talented architect? Why, by having his eyes put out, so that never again would he design anything as beautiful as this monument to his Tsar’s great victory.
It is only through the fairy tales that we begin to see how this man procured his many lives.
He finally died in his early fifties, playing chess with an advisor he had always loved, exploited and suppressed.
He stipulated a regent’s council should take over, on which sat one Boris Godunov.
Much later, in the first half of the nineteenth century, Boris influenced a man with twenty-nine lives. His name was Alexander Pushkin; and he made mincemeat of the different Russian styles of writing, mixing each to make a composite writing voice for future Russia.
A glittering star and member of the nobility, he began publishing at 15 and never stopped. At one point he was publishing his own magazine. His political writings got him into scrape after scrape, but he seemed to emerge from each one comparatively unharmed.
His play about Boris Godunov is his most famous work: there’s Eugene Onegin, too, his verse-novel. The man was prolific, brilliant and effortless.
Notoriously touchy about his honour, he fought 29 duels during his lifetime.
He died at 38. And all of Russia has since mourned the fact that he did not have thirty, or thirty-five lives. His talent, they say, would have changed the course of Russian literature forever; his death was a catastrophe.
And yet he threw it all away on a duel. Perhaps he felt he had more lives than, in fact, he did.
When you’re in love with a beautiful woman, it’s hard. Pushkin wedded one of the great Russian beauties of her time, who attracted attention from many men including the Tsar.
She was the subject of that final duel: the life Pushkin lost. She had been dallying with a French officer in the Chevalier-Guard Regiment. Pushkin demanded satisfaction, but instead lost that precious last life.
We’re none of us immortal.
Some of us have more lives than others.
But as Pushkin found out: best not to squander them.
Kate Shrewsday 
Interesting post, Kate. I knew some of these facts, but not all. Thanks for sharing. I’ll cross the road with more care later.
🙂 Good idea, Nuvofelt. Perhaps we all have our own number of lives.
I love how you mix and match your inspiration: Pushkin and Dr Hook 🙂 Peerless.
😀 One does one’s best. It’s a good pic of Dr Hook, don’t you think?
Lovely post Kate.
(? last line: “list that precious last life.” – presumably “lost”)
Thanks Pseu, yes, of course. VERY late putting this up today, and more time writing later. Bit slap-dash 🙂
Informative post for me. I know so little about Russian history. Off to do some more reading!
This all started because I’ve had a rubbish weekend and whenever things get tough I go and seek out a Russian fairy tale. They’re so theatrical and extreme they make the world go away. So I found one by Pushkin about a priest who employed a labourer and it led me to Pushkin, and he led me to Boris Godunov, and Boris led me to Ivan! Life is rich!
Whoa! I’m dizzy from whipping through so much Russian history in such a confined space. I will now be forced to look up a bit more detail so I can get my head back on straight. No problem, I’m sure I have about 29 lives to get it all done and the only thing I will duel over is a piece of dark chocolate.
I know, Lou, there isn’t room in here to swing a serf, let alone go rampaging over the Steppes in this wanton way. Must get an extension so we can all move. However: too much detail in Russian history makes one’s head whirl: it is one long, colourful, rather bloody soap opera. Best to get one character and follow them for a while until your feet find terra firma. I always start from the fairy stories, and ask questions from there.
I know less than a little of Russian fairy tales and history; although I must have some basic knowledge of it buried somewhere at the back of my brain, as I recognized most of the characters in your post. I, too, will need to do some reading. 🙂
While working on the construction of a Christmas gift book in recent months, however, I have been horrified to learn some of the British history behind certain nursery rhymes from my childhood. For instance, “Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow . . .” Who knew that such an innocent and pretty little verse had such a horrific beginning? Many of Mary’s victims didn’t have opportunity to complete just one life!!
So much of our folklore has quite dark beginnings, doesn’t it, Karen? I fear they fascinate me more than any amount of wholesome history….
Ah, but the dark or the forbidden is so much more tempting to take a peek at! 🙂
I love it when you dwell in the Russian fairy tales, Kate, for I always learn something new and, shall I say, robust about the Russians. I know so little about Pushkin. You incite me to learn more.
I really need to find a good book of Russian fairy tales.
I would love to write one, Penny. It does so appeal. So many things in the world to do, and so little time…
Maybe our current leaders are less reprehensible than those in days of yore:
A little legendary anecdote for you, one among many: he had a great cathedral built to celebrate the capture of Kazan. The great and beautiful structure which graced Moscow, designed by Postnik Yakovlev, brought many to tears with its beauty and magnificence. It was the wonder of all who surveyed it.
How did Ivan IV choose to thank its supremely talented architect? Why, by having his eyes put out, so that never again would he design anything as beautiful as this monument to his Tsar’s great victory.
Moral of the Story: Don’t accept invitations to create storied structures or monuments for monarchs. 😀
Must bear that one in mind, Nancy 😀
My interest in Russia is the Bolshevik Revolution. It is astonishing how much money Lenin was able to bleed the Germans for and they were willing financiers.
Very persuasive, our Russian friends 😉
I had a friend whose father worked administratively for Czar Nicholas. She told me stories of playing with Anastasia along with many detailed stories of the lives of this Royal family. I know there are many who claim rights to these stories, but if my friend Ekatrina was not authentic, she was one incredible storyteller. To hear of her escape from Russia was to imagine the full 29 lives at play.
Sadly, her last living experience was hardly dazzling – well into her 80s, she fell off the roof of her house in Saskatchewan while cleaning eaves!
At least she went out with a bang, Amy: what an extraordinary woman. I have a healthy respect for any born storyteller…
Oh my, bravo, Kate! Must admit, I started with a glazed expression and skimmed (not huge fan of Russian history), then saw Pushkin toward the end and started reading backwards. Finally, after the third go-round, I am still in awe of this fabulous bit of Russian history! I know of Pushkin, but do not know (you know? ha!) now, I must go and investigate! (Oh, and am most excited for Onegin shall be performed this summer by our most excellent opera co.) ~
Glad you found Pushkin in time, Angela! To me Russian history runs like a gory soap opera.
Passion can get one into all sorts of pickles – those Russians of old were a seriously hot-headed bunch
They were! And they still are, in many ways.
Dear Kate,
Like “Speccy,” “I love how you mix and match your inspiration.” I also like how you aptly described what I call a noodling day–one in which I follow the wandering road of my mind from one notion to another. When I was young, my parents, strapped for money most of the time, bought a set of World Books (this would have been in about 1947). Whenever my brother or I asked a question at supper during the conversation that ranged from politics to how to build a “catcracker” in an oil distillery, my parents would send us to the World Books to find the answer. By bedtime, nearly every night, all the volumes would be spread over the living room floor as one topic led to another. You describe this so well in the following reply: “So I found one by Pushkin about a priest who employed a labourer and it led me to Pushkin, and he led me to Boris Godunov, and Boris led me to Ivan!” And as you said, “Life is rich!”
It is, Dee. The world is full of the most amazing stuff: we’ll never find it all. The best we can hope for is to follow lines through the stories 🙂
Fabulous whirlwind tour of some of Russia’s very theatrical history. Your dip into Russia has you on the border of my 19th century research (somehow, I’ve got out of London and into Empirical Austro-Hungary – I’ve been enjoying Hapsburg Vienna and the wilds of Hungary and Romania). Nice to pass you as we time travel! You should write that book of Russian fairy tales…
Gracious, Elizabeth, your research takes you far and wide – how exciting! Nice indeed to hi-five as we traipse across the temporal regions…