Ivan Krylov invented Russia in fables — or rather, showed it to itself in a form it could recognize without taking offense. The bear who smashes a forehead to swat a fly. The swan, the crayfish, and the pike hauling a cart in three directions. The crow with the cheese. All of it passed into the language and stayed there for good.
He was born in 1769. His father, an army captain, died early, and the family lived in poverty. From childhood Krylov worked as a clerk, read whatever came to hand, and taught himself languages. He tried his hand at comedy and at journalism — nothing remarkable.
At forty he wrote his first fables and became a classic in his own lifetime. Nine books over forty years: nearly two hundred fables, most of them taken from La Fontaine or Aesop and recast as Russian. But “recast” is the word: in Krylov’s hands they are not translations but independent things, full of Russian life, Moscow intonations, the speech of the people.
He served thirty years at the Public Library in Petersburg, famous for his gluttony and his idleness — it was said he could go weeks without leaving the sofa. He died in 1844, well fed and well loved.