Myshkin: Mousy and Proud of It

MYSHKIN, Central Russia -- When it comes to Eastern mysticism, Vladimir Grechukhin is a devotee. Two years ago, he says, the Chinese year of the mouse turned Myshkin from a tiny farming town into a thriving tourist center on the Volga River.


"And all because of our mice," said Grechukhin, director of Myshkin's only museum. Behind the statue of Lenin on Pushkin Street, an unassuming wooden building that might easily be taken for public toilets convenience houses the Museum of the Mouse -- the only one of its kind in the world.


"People come from far and wide to see it," said Grechukhin, who is small and timid, with a nose that twitches when he talks. He wears a tartan tunic, with the letter M stitched onto his left shoulder.


Above the door to the Museum of the Mouse hangs Myshkin's coat of arms. It shows the bear and the axe, the symbols of Yaroslavl, 80 kilometers south of Myshkin. Beneath them stands a carved wooden mouse, the ubiquitous rodent that lent the town its curious name.


About 700 years ago, Prince Mstislavsky was dozing on the banks of the Volga river in Russia's Golden Ring. As he slept, a poisonous snake crawled towards him. "If it hadn't been for the mouse that bit Prince Mstislavsky's leg to wake him up, he would certainly have died," Grechukhin said. "In his honor, the prince named the town Myshkin after the mouse."


Grechukhin's museum opened in 1991. His exhibits range from mouse-shaped candlesticks made in the Urals, to Ukrainian beer mugs with mouse tail handles, to mouse matryoshka dolls from the outskirts of Moscow. "Every exhibit is related to mice in some way," said Grechukhin, who currently has 9,000 items on display.


One display cabinet is dedicated to famous mice from Russian animated films. "We have the mouse from the fairy tale called 'The Speckled Hen,' who smashed the golden egg on the floor," he said. He said they didn't have any problems acquiring the models from animation studios. "Most likely they were lying in a cupboard somewhere, covered in dust, and being nibbled by real mice," he said. "At least here they are being properly cared for."


Another glass case holds books from all over the former Soviet Union, Europe and North Korea on mice. "We have some of the illustrations of Viktor Chizhikov, who drew all sorts of mice to accompany children's stories," Grechukhin said. "And we have tales of sly Japanese mice, who would rather eat mischievous children than pieces of cheese."


It isn't until the end of the guided tour that Grechukhin shows visitors his prize exhibit -- the foreign mouse cabinet. He has Mickey Mouse handkerchiefs, Danish Lego mice, knitted Turkish rodents and a bronze sculpture the size of his finger nail, all the way from Madras.


"Every year we get letters from mouse fans all over the world," said Grechukhin, indicating a box stuffed to the brim with foreign envelopes. "They tell us anecdotes about mice, send us pictures and photographs, and sometimes they enclose new exhibits for the museum, like this green plastic mouse-shaped mirror from Georgia," he said.


Last year, Myshkin's mouse museum had 7,000 visitors. This year, Grechukhin hopes to double the figure.


"Last year, the Cat Society from Yaroslavl came to see our museum," said Grechukhin, "and we are expecting a delegation from the Cat Museum in Lithuania to visit us some time this year."


He also hopes to establish links with the German town of Hamlyn. "What an unfortunate place it must have been to have had all its mice taken away by the Pied Piper," he said. "I cannot imagine a more terrible fate for a town."


In 1997, he was awarded a medal by financier and philanthropist George Soros for his cultural contribution to the country. The prize included 17,000,000 old rubles ($2,937), which Grechukhin has donated to the museum.


Grechukhin said the museum is gearing up for the town's annual festival July 11. On that day, Myshkin's mayor hands out the coveted Order of the Mouse to Myshkinites who have excelled during the year. "Last year we were given a batch of live mice by the Biological Institute in Moscow," Grechukhin said. "Most of them were mutant, with no legs or huge warts on their backs. But at least it meant our town's name was brought to life."