Summary of the novel “The Master and Margarita” chapter by chapter (M. A. Bulgakov)

Part one

Chapter 1. Never talk to strangers

In Moscow, Mikhail Berlioz, a short, plump and bald man, the head of one of the capital's leading literary associations MASSOLIT, and his companion, the poet Ivan Ponyrev, who wrote under the name Bezdomny, were walking on the Patriarch's Ponds. Surprisingly, there was no one else on the alley except them. The men drank apricot and sat down on a bench. Here another strange thing happened: Berlioz’s heart suddenly sank, and he was overcome by fear, which made him want to run wherever his eyes were looking. After that, he saw in the air a transparent citizen with a mocking face, dressed in a checkered jacket. Soon the man disappeared, so the chairman attributed the incident to heat and fatigue. Having calmed down, he began to talk with his friend about the Son of God. Berlioz ordered Bezdomny to write an anti-religious poem, but the leader was not satisfied with the result. Jesus turned out to be realistic, but it was necessary to show that he never existed.

While Berlioz was giving a lecture to Bezdomny on this topic, a man appeared in the alley. He appears to be a tall man in his forties. His right eye was black and his left eye was green, clean-shaven, the crowns of his teeth on one side were platinum and on the other gold, richly dressed, a foreigner. He sat down with the men. The foreigner was interested in their atheism and remembered how he had talked with Kant on this topic, which surprised Berlioz and Bezdomny. The stranger asked who, if not the Almighty, controls everything on earth, to which Ivan replied that people do this. The foreigner said that they could not even know their fate in advance. After this, a suspicious person predicted to Berlioz that that evening he would lose his head because of the girl who spilled the oil. Then he advised Bezdomny to ask doctors what schizophrenia is. Later, the stranger said that he was invited to the capital of Russia as a consultant on black magic. The man was convinced of the existence of Jesus, and began to tell the story.

Chapter 2. Pontius Pilate

The Procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate, duly interrogated the arrested man. The prisoner called him a kind person, but the judge denied this. Next, the centurion Mark, nicknamed the Rat Slayer, at the request of Pilate, explained to the prisoner with the help of a whip that the Roman procurator should be called hegemon. The arrested man introduced himself as Yeshua Ha-Nozri from Gamala. He was educated: in addition to Aramaic, he also knew Greek. The prisoner had no relatives. The hegemon asked whether Yeshua really wanted to destroy the temple, as they said. The prisoner replied, people got everything mixed up because they did not receive the proper education. He also told about Levi Matthew, who collected taxes, but lost interest in money after listening to Yeshua’s sermons, and went with him to travel. The prisoner realized that Pilate had a headache, and he wanted his beloved dog to be nearby. When Yeshua told the hegemon about this, the malaise stopped. Pontius Pilate considered that this man was innocent, and even took a liking to the traveler. The procurator was about to pardon him, but then the secretary submitted a report from Judas from Kiriath that Yeshua considered power to be violence, and that one day it would not exist, and the kingdom of truth would come. It seemed to the hegemon that an ulcer appeared on the prisoner’s head and his teeth fell out, but soon the vision disappeared. Pontius Pilate, being a representative of the authorities, could not get away with such a crime. The procurator was afraid that if he released Yeshua, he himself would take his place on the cross. Therefore, the hegemon imposed a death sentence, but in the hope that the arrested person would be pardoned in honor of Easter. The High Priest Joseph Caiaphas reported that he had pardoned the robber Varavan. Pilate could not convince him. The convicts were taken to Bald Mountain, and the hegemon returned to the palace with a feeling of sadness.

Chapter 3. Seventh proof

By the time the consultant finished the story, it was already evening. The stranger stated that the gospels were not a reliable source. The man said that he was present at those events. Here Berlioz finally realized that the stranger was crazy. After the mentally ill person said that he would be staying in Mikhail Alexandrovich’s apartment, he left him with Ivan, and he ran around the corner to the phone. The stranger sadly asked Berlioz to finally at least believe in the existence of the devil. The writer played along and ran away.

On the way, he noticed the same man who was flying in the air, only no longer transparent, but the most ordinary one, but did not talk to him. Berlioz was not stopped by the phrase that suddenly appeared in the glass box: “Beware of the tram!” Mikhail Alexandrovich slipped and fell on the tram track. The counselor with the scarlet bandage slowed down, but it was too late. The tram ran over Berlioz, and his severed head galloped down the street.

Chapter 4. The Chase

Paralyzed by fear, Ivan Bezdomny fell onto the bench, unable to understand that his comrade was no longer there. Hearing conversations about Annushka and butter, the poet immediately remembered the stranger’s words, returned to him and blamed him for what had happened. The foreigner “stopped” understanding Russian, and the man in a checkered jacket stood up for him. Ivan guessed that they were together and tried to catch him, but his comrades began to move away with supernatural speed. In addition, they were joined by a huge cat. Ivan ran after them, and the gang split up. Checkered left on the bus, the cat tried to pay for the trip on the tram, but the conductor wouldn’t let him in, so he hitched a ride on the back and left for free. Later, Bezdomny lost that foreigner in the crowd.

Deciding that the criminal must certainly end up in apartment 47 of building No. 13, Ivan burst in, but was mistaken. There were other people in the house. Grabbing a candle and a paper icon, the poet ran out of the house and went to look for the alleged criminal on the Moscow River. The homeless man undressed and left his belongings for safekeeping with a stranger. Returning to the shore, the poet discovered that instead of his clothes there were some cast-offs. Ivan, annoyed, changed into what was left for him and went to search further.

Chapter 5. There was an affair in Griboedov

A meeting of writers under the leadership of Mikhail Berlioz was planned for that evening at Griboedov's house. The subordinates waited for their boss, discussing those who received the dachas, and suggesting why the chairman was delayed. Without waiting for him to appear, people went down to the restaurant and began to have a fun evening. Upon learning of Berlioz's sudden death, they plunged into short-lived grief.

When the half-naked poet Ivan Bezdomny found himself in a restaurant looking for a foreigner, the writers sent him to a psychiatric hospital.

Chapter 6. Schizophrenia, as was said

At the hospital, Ivan told the doctor the whole truth about the death of his comrade. He was even glad that they were listening to him, although he was outraged that he, an adequate person, was thrown into a mental hospital.

In addition to the doctors, the poet Ryukhin was also in the hospital, who testified: he reported what Bezdomny usually was like and in what condition he came to the restaurant. There, Ivan shouted and even got into fights with other writers.

From the hospital, Bezdomny called the police to detain the consultant, but no one there would listen, deciding that the poet was crazy. Bezdomny was diagnosed with schizophrenia, so he was not released. Ryukhin left, offended by Ivan, who called him mediocre.

Chapter 7. Bad apartment

The director of the capital's Variety Theater Stepan Likhodeev woke up after drinking in apartment No. 50, where he lived with Berlioz. Stepan saw his ugly reflection in the mirror, and next to him a stranger. The man introduced himself as Woland, a specialist in black magic, and said that they agreed to meet an hour ago. Stepan didn't remember anything. Woland allowed him to recover from his hangover, and his memory gradually began to recover, but Stepan still did not remember this gentleman. Likhodeev studied the contract shown by Woland, where all the signatures were in place, then he went to call and, passing by Berlioz’s room, was surprised that it was sealed.

Stepan spoke with financial director Rimsky, who confirmed the conclusion of the contract. Woland was joined by Koroviev, the big cat and the short, red-haired Azazello. The company decided that it was time to get rid of Likhodeev. After this, Stepan ended up in Yalta.

Chapter 8. The duel between the professor and the poet

The homeless man wanted to go to the police to put the man from Patriarch's Ponds on the wanted list, but the doctors said that they wouldn't believe him and would send him back to the psychiatric hospital. In this regard, Ivan began to write a statement right there.

Dr. Stravinsky argued that Bezdomny was very saddened by the death of his comrade, and he needed to rest. Ivan agreed to live in the ward, where food was brought to him.

Chapter 9. Koroviev's jokes

The head of the housing association at building No. 32 bis, Nikonor Ivanovich Bosogo, began to be pestered by citizens who wanted to get the room in which the chairman of MASSOLIT lived. Exhausted by these people, the man went to the ill-fated apartment, where in a sealed room he met a man in checkered clothing, who introduced himself as Koroviev, a translator for a foreigner who lived in this apartment. At the same time, he advised Nikonor Ivanovich to look at the letter from Likhodeev, which was in his bag. In it, Stepan wrote that he was leaving for Yalta and asked to temporarily register Woland in his apartment. After a bribe of five thousand rubles and a receipt, the matter was resolved and the chairman left.

Woland expressed a desire not to see Bosogo again. Koroviev called and said that Nikonor Ivanovich was making money on foreign currency. They came to Bosom to check and found dollars on the man, and the contract disappeared along with Woland’s passport, which the chairman took for paperwork.

Chapter 10. News from Yalta

Stepan Likhodeev went to the criminal investigation department in Yalta, from where he sent a telegram to Variety to confirm his identity. Rimsky and his fellow administrator Varenukha took it as a joke, because just a few hours ago the director called them on his home phone and said that he was going to go to work. The men called Stepan back at home, and Koroviev said that he had gone for a car ride out of town. Varenukha sensed something was wrong and prepared to go to the police. The phone rang and they told me not to go anywhere. Varenukha did not listen.

On the way, he was caught by robbers, dragged into apartment No. 50, where he was met by a naked girl with burning eyes and deathly cold hands, who wanted to kiss him. This made the man faint.

Chapter 11. Ivan's split

Because of his excitement, Ivan Bezdomny could not write a coherent text about what happened. In addition, there was a thunderstorm outside the window. The poet cried from powerlessness, which worried the paramedic Praskovya Fedorovna, who closed the window with curtains and brought him pencils.

After the injections, Ivan began to come to his senses and decided that there was no need to worry so much about Berlioz’s death, since he was not even related to him. Ivan thought and mentally communicated with himself. When he was ready to fall asleep, a man appeared on his window and said: “Shh.”

Chapter 12. Black magic and its exposure

The financial director of Variety Rimsky did not understand where Varenukha was. The boss wanted to call the police, but for some reason not a single phone in the theater worked. Woland arrived to them with a man in plaid and a large cat. Entertainer Georges Bengalsky introduced the consultant, saying that there is no such thing as witchcraft, and the speaker is a master of magic.

Woland began the session with words about people. In his opinion, they had become completely different externally, and wondered whether changes had occurred internally. The magician conjured a rain of money, which Muscovites began to catch, pushing and swearing. Georges of Bengal informed the public that these were just tricks, and the money would now disappear. Someone from the audience said to tear off Georges' head. The Behemoth cat did it right away. Blood gushed from his neck. Then the cat forgave the entertainer, put his head back on and let him go. Then Woland conjured up a foreign clothing store on stage, where you could exchange your belongings for new fashionable and expensive items of clothing. The ladies immediately went there. Here one of the leaders, Arkady Sempleyarov, angrily demanded exposure. Koroviev told the audience that this man had gone to see his mistress the day before. His wife, who was sitting next to him, started a scandal. Soon Woland and his retinue disappeared.

Chapter 13. The appearance of a hero

The man who entered Ivan’s room introduced himself as a foreman and said that he had access to the balcony because he had stolen the keys. He could have escaped from the hospital, but he had nowhere to go. When Bezdomny said that he wrote poetry, the guest winced and admitted that he did not like poetry. Ivan promised not to write again. The stranger reported that a man was brought into one of the wards, who talked incessantly about the currency in the ventilation and evil spirits. When Ivan told the guest that he was in the hospital because of Pontius Pilate, he immediately perked up and asked for details. Then the unfamiliar man expressed regret that the critic Latunsky or the writer Mstislav Lavrovich did not take the place of the chairman of MASSOLIT. At the end of the story, the master said that the poet had met with Satan.

An unfamiliar man told about himself. He was writing a novel about the procurator of Judea. Later the master met the woman he loved. She was married, but the marriage was unhappy. When the novel was written, the publishing house did not accept it; only a small piece was published, followed by a harsh critical article. The critic Latunsky spoke especially badly about the novel. The master burned his brainchild. The woman said that she would kill Latunsky. The master also had a friend Alozy Mogarych, who read his novel. When the woman went to her husband to break off relations with him, there was a knock on the writer’s door. He was evicted from his apartment and went to live in a psychiatric hospital. He didn’t say anything to his beloved so as not to drag her into his problems.

Ivan asked the master to tell the contents of the novel, but he refused and left.

Chapter 14. Glory to the Rooster!

Rimsky sat at his work and looked at the money that had fallen from the ceiling at the will of Woland. He heard a police trill and saw half-naked women outside the window. The new clothes for which they exchanged the old ones disappeared. The men laughed at the ladies. Rimsky wanted to call and report what had happened, but then the phone itself rang and a woman’s voice from the receiver said not to do this, otherwise it would be bad.

After some time, Varenukha came. He said that Stepan had not been to any Yalta, but got drunk in Pushkin with a telegraph operator and began sending comic telegrams. Rimsky decided that he would remove the offender from his position. However, the more Varenukha told, the less the financial director believed him. In the end, Rimsky realized that it was all a lie, and also noticed that the administrator did not cast a shadow. Rimsky pressed the panic button, but it did not work. Varenukha closed the door. Then, after three rooster crows, he flew out the window along with a naked girl who suddenly appeared. Soon the graying Rimsky was traveling by train to Leningrad.

Chapter 15. Nikanor Ivanovich's dream

Nikanor Bosoy, while in a psychiatric hospital, talked about the dark force in apartment No. 50. They checked the home, but everything turned out to be in order. After the injection, the man fell asleep.

In a dream, he saw people sitting on the floor and a young man who was collecting currency from them. Then the cooks brought soup and bread. When the man opened his eyes, he saw a paramedic holding a syringe. After the next injection, Nikanor Ivanovich fell asleep and saw Bald Mountain.

Chapter 16. Execution

Under the command of Centurion Mark, three convicts were led to Bald Mountain. The crowd watched what was happening, no one made an attempt to save these people. After the execution, unable to withstand the heat, the spectators left the mountain. The soldiers remained.

One of Yeshua’s disciples, Levi Matthew, was on the mountain. He wanted to stab the teacher before execution in order to give him an easy death, but it didn’t work out. Then Matvey began to ask God to grant Yeshua death. It still didn’t come, so the student began to curse the Almighty. Thunderstorm began. The soldiers pierced the criminals with spears in the hearts and left the mountain. Levi carried away the body of Yeshua, at the same time untying the other two corpses.

Chapter 17. Restless day

Variety's accountant Lastochkin, who remained in the theater as the eldest, was in extreme confusion. He was embarrassed by the rumors circulating around Moscow, frightened by the disappearance of Rimsky, Likhodeev and Varenukha, discouraged by the commotion during and after the performance, and horrified by the endless calls from investigators. All documents about Woland and even posters disappeared.

Lastochkin went to the commission of spectacles and entertainment, but, instead of the chairman, he saw only an empty suit who was signing papers, and in the branch a man in checkered organized a choir, disappeared himself, and the women could not stop singing. Then Lastochkin wanted to hand over his profits, but instead of rubles he had dollars, and he was arrested.

Chapter 18. Unlucky Visitors

The uncle of the late Berlioz, Maxim Poplavsky, came from Ukraine to Moscow for his nephew’s funeral. He was somewhat surprised that he himself sent a telegram about his death. However, the uncle found benefit in Mikhail's misfortune. Having long dreamed of an apartment in the capital, he went to house number 32 bis in the hope of inheriting a relative’s space. There was no one in the housing association, and in the room he was met by a fat cat, a man in checkered clothing who called himself Koroviev, and Azazello. Together they took his passport and lowered him down the stairs.

The barman entered the apartment and reported his grief: Woland’s audience paid him with money that fell from the ceiling, and then the profit turned into garbage, and he suffered great losses. Woland said that he would soon die of cancer, so he didn’t need a lot of money. The barman immediately ran for examination. The money he used to pay the doctor also became unnecessary paperwork after the patient left.

Chapter 26. Burial

Perhaps this twilight was the reason why the procurator’s appearance changed dramatically. He seemed to have aged before our eyes, hunched over and, moreover, became anxious. Once he looked around and for some reason shuddered, glancing at the empty chair, on the back of which lay a cloak. The festive night was approaching, the evening shadows were playing their game, and, probably, the tired procurator imagined that someone was sitting in an empty chair. Having admitted cowardice - moving his cloak, the procurator left it and ran around the balcony, now rubbing his hands, now running up to the table and grabbing the bowl, now stopping and starting to look senselessly at the mosaic of the floor, as if trying to read some kind of writing in it. This is the second time today that sadness has fallen upon him. Rubbing his temple, in which only a dull, slightly aching memory remained from the hellish morning pain, the procurator kept trying to understand the reason for his mental torment. And he quickly realized this, but tried to deceive himself. It was clear to him that this afternoon he had irretrievably missed something, and now he wanted to correct what he had missed with some small and insignificant, and most importantly, belated actions. The deception of himself consisted in the fact that the procurator tried to convince himself that these actions, this evening, were no less important than the morning verdict. But the procurator did this very poorly. At one of the turns he stopped abruptly and whistled. In response to this whistle, a low bark thundered in the twilight, and a giant, pointy-eared dog of gray wool, wearing a collar with gilded plaques, jumped out of the garden onto the balcony. “Banga, Bunga,” the procurator shouted weakly. The dog rose on his hind legs, and lowered his front legs onto his owner’s shoulders, so that he almost knocked him to the floor, and licked him on the cheek. The procurator sat down in a chair, Banga, sticking out his tongue and breathing rapidly, lay down at the owner’s feet, and the joy in the dog’s eyes meant that the storm had ended, the only thing in the world that the fearless dog was afraid of, and also that he was here again, next to him a man whom he loved, respected and considered the most powerful in the world, the ruler of all people, thanks to whom the dog considered himself a privileged, superior and special being. But, lying down at his feet and not even looking at his owner, but looking into the evening garden, the dog immediately realized that his owner was in trouble. Therefore, he changed his position, stood up, walked in from the side and placed his front paws and head on the procurator’s lap, smearing the hem of his cloak with wet sand. Probably, Bunga's actions were supposed to mean that he consoles his master and is ready to face misfortune with him. He tried to express this both in his eyes, squinting towards the owner, and in his alert, pricked ears. So both of them, the dog and the man, who loved each other, celebrated the festive night on the balcony.

Part two

Chapter 19. Margarita

The young, pretty and intelligent woman whom the master loved was named Margarita. Her husband was wealthy and adored his young wife. They had a very large living space in the center of Moscow and servants. However, in her heart, before the master appeared, Margarita was unhappy, since she and her husband had nothing in common. One day she came to her beloved, did not find him at home and began to worry, but she could not find him. The unfortunate heroine was very worried about his fate and was sad.

While walking, the woman met the funeral procession of Berlioz, whose head had disappeared. Margarita asked the red-haired man if there was a critic of Latunsky among these people. The man, whose name was Azazello, pointed at him. Red said that he knew where her lover was and offered to meet. He gave her a cream that needed to be used at a specified time and asked her to wait for the escort.

Chapter 20. Azazello cream

Margarita was in her room. At the right time, she smeared the cream on her skin, which made her even more beautiful, and her body became so light that, jumping, the woman hovered in the air.

The phone rang. Margarita was told to say the word “Invisible” while flying over the gate. At that moment a floor brush appeared. The woman gave her things to the maid Natasha, and she flew away on a brush.

Chapter 21. Flight

Margarita did not fly high. When she reached Latunsky’s house, she climbed into his apartment, where there was no one at that time, and began to destroy everything, at the same time flooding the neighbors. After that, Margarita flew on.

After some time, Natasha, flying on a hog, caught up with her. She also smeared herself with the cream, and at the same time rubbed it on her neighbor’s bald head, on whom the cream had an unusual effect. Then Margarita plunged into the lake, where she was met by mermaids and other witches, after which the sideburn man and the goat-legged man put the woman in the car, and she flew back to the capital.

Chapter 22. By candlelight

Margarita flew to house No. 32 bis, and Azazello took her to the former apartment of Berlioz and Likhodeev, where Koroviev met the woman. Where she found herself was a large hall with a colonnade and no electricity. We used candles. Koroviev said that a ball was planned, the hostess of which should be a woman named Margarita, in whom royal blood flows. It turned out that she was just a descendant of one of the French queens.

Woland immediately realized that Margarita was very smart. Natasha and the hog were also there. The maid was left with the mistress, and they promised not to kill the neighbor.

Chapter 23. Satan's Great Ball

Margarita was washed with blood, then with rose oil, after which she was rubbed with green leaves until shiny and put on very heavy clothes and jewelry. Koroviev said that the guests will be very different, but no one should be given preference. At the same time, it was necessary to devote time to everyone: smile, say a few words, turn your head slightly. The cat exclaimed: “Ball! ", after which the light came on, and corresponding sounds and smells appeared.

World celebrities such as Vietan and Strauss gathered in the hall. Margarita with Koroviev, the cat and Azazello greeted the guests - the inhabitants of the underworld, whose sins the interlocutors savored. Most of all, the hostess of the ball remembered Frida, who buried her living newborn illegitimate son in the forest, putting a handkerchief in his mouth. After that incident, that thing was placed next to her every day. After the roosters crowed, the guests began to leave.

Chapter 24. Extracting the Master

At the end of the ball, Woland asked Margarita what she would like. The woman did not take up the offer. Then he repeated it. Margarita asked to make sure that Frida was not brought a scarf. The wish was fulfilled.

The man said that she could choose something for herself. Margarita said that she wanted to live with the master at his home. Her lover was immediately nearby. Woland gave him the novel and papers for the apartment, and the slanderer Aloysius Mogarych, who obtained his housing by deception, was thrown out of the window. Margarita and the master returned home.

Chapter 25. How the procurator tried to save Judah from Kiriath

Pontius Pilate met with the head of the secret service. The man said that Yeshua called cowardice one of the worst vices.

The procurator said that Judas would soon be killed, and gave the man a heavy bag. According to Pilate, the traitor will receive money for denunciation of Yeshua, and after the murder it will be given to the high priest.

Chapter 26. Burial

Judas came out of the high priest's house and saw the girl Nisa, for whom he had long had feelings. She made an appointment with him. Near the agreed meeting place, Judas was stabbed to death, and the coins were actually thrown back to the high priest with a note about return.

At this time, Pilate had a dream that he was walking towards the Moon along the lunar path with his dog Banga and Yeshua. The companion said that from now on they will always be together. Levi Matthew told the hegemon that he wanted to kill Judas for betrayal, but Pilate himself avenged him.

Chapter 27. The end of apartment No. 50

By morning Margarita finished reading the chapter. Life in Moscow began to gradually recover. Rimsky, Likhodeev and Varenukha were found. Citizens from the psychiatric hospital were interrogated again, taking their words more seriously.

Soon people in civilian clothes came to apartment No. 50. Koroviev said that they had come to arrest them. Woland and his comrades disappeared. All that was left was the cat who started the pogrom and the fire.

Chapter 28. The last adventures of Koroviev and Behemoth

Koroviev and the cat caused a row in the store. They skillfully manipulated the crowd by entering a store where they only accepted currency as payment. The heroes introduced themselves as ordinary hard workers, and Koroviev made an impassioned speech against the bourgeoisie who could arrange shopping in such a store. Then a man from the crowd of onlookers attacked the rich buyer. After frightening the sellers and customers, they started a fire.

Then the couple went to the MASSOLIT restaurant. They introduced themselves as dead writers, and the obsequious administrator let them out of harm's way, but immediately, promising to personally supervise the preparation of the fillet for the guests, he called the NKVD. The arriving operatives, without wasting time on explanations, began to shoot, and the mysterious “writers” disappeared, and before that the cat set the entire hall on fire again, spilling flames from the primus stove.

Chapter 29. The fate of the master and Margarita is determined

In the evening, Woland and Azazello stood on the terrace of one of the most attractive buildings in the capital. Stuck nearby was the “consultant’s” long sword, which cast a distinct shadow.

Soon Matthew Levi came to them. He did not greet Woland because he did not wish him health. Satan said that light without shadows would be meaningless, pointing to the sword. The ambassador said that Yeshua asks Woland to take the master to him, because he is not worthy of light, but deserves peace. Satan agreed.

Chapter 30. It's time! It's time!

Margarita was stroking her beloved master and suddenly met Azazello right in the cozy basement. Red fatally poisoned a couple in love with red wine and immediately resurrected them, declaring the will of the master. Then they set the house on fire, mounted their horses and the three of them rushed to heaven.

Flying past the hospital, the master said goodbye to Ivan, who was surprised by Margarita’s beauty. When the lovers disappeared and the paramedic entered, the former poet learned from her that the neighbor had died. Ivan reported that a lady also died in the city.

Chapter 31. On the Sparrow Hills

When the bad weather was over, a rainbow shone in the capital. After the lovers said goodbye to the capital, Woland soon took them with him.

Chapter 32. Farewell and eternal shelter

During the journey, the always cheerful Koroviev turned into a serious and thoughtful knight, Behemoth - into a thin jester, and Azazello - into a demon. The master had a braid and long cavalry boots on his feet. Woland took on the appearance of a block of darkness.

On the way, they met a man who was sitting next to his dog Banga and dreamed of going with Yeshua. At Margarita's request, Woland released Pontius Pilate. Then Satan showed the lovers their new house with a Venetian window covered with grapes. Margarita told the master that there she would protect his sleep.

Michael Bulgakov

Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in the world? May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!

Follow me, my reader, and only me, and I will show you such love!

No! The master was mistaken when he bitterly told Ivanushka in the hospital at the hour when the night had passed midnight that she had forgotten him. This couldn't happen. She, of course, did not forget him.

First of all, let's reveal the secret that the master did not want to reveal to Ivanushka.

His beloved was called Margarita Nikolaevna. Everything the master said about her was the absolute truth. He described his beloved correctly. She was beautiful and smart. One more thing must be added to this - we can say with confidence that many women would give anything to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. Childless thirty-year-old Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who also made a most important discovery of national importance. Her husband was young, handsome, kind, honest and adored his wife. Margarita Nikolaevna and her husband together occupied the entire top of a beautiful mansion in a garden in one of the alleys near Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can verify this if they wish to go to this garden.

Let him contact me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact.

Margarita Nikolaevna did not need money. Margarita Nikolaevna could buy whatever she liked. Among her husband's acquaintances there were interesting people. Margarita Nikolaevna never touched a primus stove. Margarita Nikolaevna did not know the horrors of living in a shared apartment. In a word... Was she happy? Not one minute! Since she got married at nineteen and ended up in a mansion, she has not known happiness. Gods, my gods! What did this woman need?! What did this woman need, in whose eyes some incomprehensible light always burned, what did this witch, slightly squinting in one eye, need, who then decorated herself with mimosas in the spring? Don't know. I don't know.

Obviously, she was telling the truth, she needed him, the master, and not a Gothic mansion, and not a separate garden, and not money. She loved him, she told the truth. Even I, a truthful narrator, but an outsider, sank at the thought of what Margarita experienced when she came to the master’s house the next day, fortunately, without having time to talk with her husband, who did not return at the appointed time, and found out that that the master is no longer there.

She did everything to find out something about him, and, of course, found out absolutely nothing. Then she returned to the mansion and lived in the same place.

- Yes, yes, yes, the same mistake! - Margarita said in winter, sitting by the stove and looking into the fire, - why did I leave him at night? For what? After all, this is madness! I returned the next day, honestly, as I promised, but it was too late. Yes, I returned, like the unfortunate Levi Matthew, too late!

All these words were, of course, absurd, because, in fact: what would have changed if she had stayed with the master that night? Would she have saved him? Funny! - we would exclaim, but we will not do this in front of a woman driven to despair.

Margarita Nikolaevna lived in such torment all winter and lived until spring. On the very day when all sorts of ridiculous chaos was happening caused by the appearance of a black magician in Moscow, on Friday, when Berlioz’s uncle was expelled back to Kiev, when the accountant was arrested and many other stupid and incomprehensible things happened, Margarita woke up around noon in her bedroom , looking out like a lantern into the tower of the mansion.

When she woke up, Margarita did not cry, as she often did, because she woke up with a premonition that today something would finally happen. Feeling this premonition, she began to warm it up and grow it in her soul, fearing that it would not leave her.

- I believe! - Margarita whispered solemnly, - I believe! Something will happen! It can’t help but happen, because why, really, have I been sent lifelong torment? I confess that I lied and deceived and lived a secret life hidden from people, but still I cannot be punished so cruelly for this. Something is bound to happen, because nothing lasts forever. And besides, my dream was prophetic, I vouch for that.

So Margarita Nikolaevna whispered, looking at the crimson curtains filling with the sun, dressing restlessly, combing her short, curled hair in front of the triple mirror.

The dream that Margarita had that night was truly unusual. The fact is that during her winter torment she never saw the master in her dreams. At night he left her, and she suffered only during the daytime. And then I dreamed about it.

Margarita dreamed of an area unknown to Margarita - hopeless, dull, under the cloudy sky of early spring. I dreamed of this ragged, running gray sky, and below it a silent flock of rooks. Some kind of clumsy bridge. Below it is a muddy spring river, joyless, beggarly, half-naked trees, a lonely aspen, and then, between the trees, a log building, either a separate kitchen, or a bathhouse, or God knows what. Everything around is somehow lifeless and so sad that you just want to hang yourself on this aspen tree near the bridge. Not a breath of wind, not a moving cloud, not a living soul. This is a hellish place for a living person!

And then, imagine, the door of this log building swings open, and he appears. Quite far away, but it is clearly visible. He's in tatters, you can't tell what he's wearing. His hair is disheveled and unshaven. The eyes are sore, anxious. He beckons her with his hand, calling her. Choking in the inanimate air, Margarita ran over the bumps to him and at that time woke up.

“This dream can only mean one of two things,” Margarita Nikolaevna reasoned to herself, “if he is dead and beckoned to me, then it means that he came for me, and I will soon die. This is very good, because then the torment will end. Or he is alive, then the dream can only mean one thing, that he reminds me of myself! He wants to say that we will see each other again.

Yes, we will see you very soon."

Still in the same excited state, Margarita got dressed and began to convince herself that, in essence, everything was turning out very well, and one must be able to seize such successful moments and use them. My husband went on a business trip for three whole days. For three days she is left to her own devices, no one will stop her from thinking about anything, dreaming about what she likes. All five rooms on the top floor of the mansion, this entire apartment, which would be the envy of tens of thousands of people in Moscow, are at her complete disposal.

However, having received freedom for three whole days, Margarita chose far from the best place from all this luxurious apartment. After drinking tea, she went into a dark, windowless room where suitcases and various old items were stored in two large closets. Squatting down, she opened the bottom drawer of the first one and from under a pile of silk scraps took out the only valuable thing she had in life. In Margarita’s hands was an old brown leather album, which contained a photograph of the master, a savings bank book with a deposit of ten thousand in his name, dried rose petals spread out between sheets of tissue paper and part of a whole-sheet notebook, written on a typewriter and with a burnt bottom edge.

Returning to her bedroom with this wealth, Margarita Nikolaevna installed a photograph on the three-leaf mirror and sat for about an hour, holding a notebook damaged by fire on her knees, leafing through it and rereading what, after the burning, there was neither beginning nor end: “...Darkness, coming from the Mediterranean Sea, covered the city hated by the procurator. The hanging bridges connecting the temple with the terrible Anthony Tower disappeared, an abyss fell from the sky and flooded the winged gods over the hippodrome, the Hasmonean palace with loopholes, bazaars, caravanserais, alleys, ponds... Yershalaim, a great city, disappeared, as if it did not exist in the world... »

Margarita wanted to read further, but there was nothing further than a charcoal fringe.

Wiping away her tears, Margarita Nikolaevna left the notebook, put her elbows on the mirror table and, reflected in the mirror, sat for a long time, not taking her eyes off the photograph. Then the tears dried up. Margarita carefully folded her property, and a few minutes later it was again buried under silk rags, and the lock closed with a ringing sound in the dark room.

Margarita Nikolaevna put on her coat in the front room to go for a walk.

The beautiful Natasha, her housekeeper, inquired about what to do for the second course, and, having received the answer that it did not matter, in order to entertain herself, she entered into a conversation with her mistress and began to tell God knows what, like the fact that yesterday there was a magician at the theater He showed such tricks that everyone gasped, he gave everyone two bottles of foreign perfume and stockings for free, and then, when the session was over, the audience went out into the street, and - grab it - everyone turned out to be naked! Margarita Nikolaevna collapsed on a chair under the mirror in the hallway and burst out laughing.

− Natasha! “Well, shame on you,” said Margarita Nikolaevna, “you are a literate, smart girl; in queues they lie God knows what, and you repeat!

Natasha blushed and objected with great fervor that they weren’t lying about anything and that today she personally saw a citizen in a grocery store on Arbat who came to the grocery store wearing shoes, and when she began to pay at the cash register, the shoes disappeared from her feet and she stayed in just stockings. Eyes are bugged out!

There is a hole in the heel. And these shoes are magical, from that very session.

- So you went?

- So I went! - Natasha screamed, blushing more and more because they didn’t believe her, - yes, yesterday, Margarita Nikolaevna, the police took a hundred people away at night. Citizens from this session ran along Tverskaya in their trousers.

“Well, of course, it was Daria who told me,” said Margarita Nikolaevna, “I have long noticed that she is a terrible liar.”

The funny conversation ended with a pleasant surprise for Natasha. Margarita Nikolaevna went to the bedroom and came out holding a pair of stockings and a bottle of cologne in her hands. Having told Natasha that she also wanted to show a trick, Margarita Nikolaevna gave her stockings and a bottle and said that she was asking her only for one thing - not to run around Tverskaya in her stockings and not to listen to Daria.

After kissing, the housewife and housekeeper parted.

Leaning back on the comfortable, soft back of the chair in the trolleybus, Margarita Nikolaevna rode along Arbat and either thought about her own things or listened to what the two citizens sitting in front of her were whispering about.

And they, occasionally turning around with apprehension to see if anyone was listening, whispered about some nonsense. Hefty, fleshy, with lively pig eyes, sitting by the window, quietly telling his little neighbor that he had to cover the coffin with a black blanket...

“It can’t be,” the little one whispered in amazement, “this is something unheard of... But what did Zheldybin do?”

Among the steady hum of the trolleybus, words were heard from the window:

− Criminal investigation... scandal... well, downright mystical!

From these fragmentary pieces, Margarita Nikolaevna somehow put together something coherent. Citizens were whispering that some deceased person, but they did not name which one, had his head stolen from his coffin this morning! This is why this Zheldybin is so worried now. All these people whispering in the trolleybus also have something to do with the robbed dead man.

- Will we have time to pick up flowers? - the little one was worried, - cremation, you say, at two?

Finally, Margarita Nikolaevna got tired of listening to this mysterious chatter about the head stolen from the coffin, and she was glad that it was time for her to go out.

A few minutes later, Margarita Nikolaevna was already sitting under the Kremlin wall on one of the benches, positioned so that she could see the Manege.

Margarita squinted at the bright sun, remembered her dream today, remembered how exactly a year, day after day and hour after hour, she sat on this same bench next to him. And just like then, the black handbag lay next to her on the bench. He wasn’t there that day, but Margarita Nikolaevna was still talking to him mentally: “If you’re exiled, then why don’t you let yourself be known? After all, people let you know. You do not love me anymore? No, for some reason I don't believe it. This means that you were exiled and died... Then, I ask you, let me go, finally give me the freedom to live, to breathe the air.” Margarita Nikolaevna answered for him: “You are free... Am I holding you?” Then she objected to him: “No, what kind of answer is this! No, you leave my memory, then I will be free.”

People passed by Margarita Nikolaevna. A man glanced sideways at a well-dressed woman, attracted by her beauty and loneliness. He coughed and sat down on the end of the same bench on which Margarita Nikolaevna was sitting.

Plucking up his courage, he spoke:

− Definitely good weather today...

But Margarita looked at him so gloomily that he got up and left.

“Here’s an example,” Margarita mentally said to the one who owned her, “why, in fact, did I drive this man away? I'm bored, but there's nothing wrong with this ladies' man, except the stupid word "definitely"? Why am I sitting like an owl, alone under the wall? Why am I excluded from life?

She became completely sad and dejected. But then suddenly that same morning wave of anticipation and excitement pushed into her chest. “Yes, it will happen!” The wave pushed her a second time, and then she realized that it was a sound wave. Through the noise of the city, approaching drum beats and the sounds of slightly out of tune trumpets could be heard more and more clearly.

The first step that seemed to take place was a mounted policeman following past the garden fence, followed by three foot soldiers. Then a slow moving truck with musicians. Next is a slowly moving funeral brand new open car, on it is a coffin covered in wreaths, and in the corners of the platform there are four standing people: three men, one woman. Even from a distance, Margarita saw that the faces of the people standing in the funeral car, accompanying the deceased on his last journey, were somehow strangely confused. This was especially noticeable in relation to the citizen standing in the left rear corner of the highway. The thick cheeks of this citizen seemed to be bursting even more from the inside with some piquant secret; ambiguous lights played in her swollen eyes. It seemed that just a little more, and the citizen, unable to bear it, would wink at the dead man and say: “Have you seen anything like that? Just mystical!” The mourners on foot, who, about three hundred in number, slowly walked behind the funeral car, had equally confused faces.

Margarita followed the procession with her eyes, listening to the dull Turkish drum fading away in the distance, making the same “Booms, booms, booms,” and thought: “What a strange funeral... And what melancholy from this “boom”! Oh, really, I would pledge my soul to the devil just to find out whether he is alive or not!

It’s interesting to know who is being buried with such amazing faces?”

“Berlioz Mikhail Alexandrovich,” a slightly nasal male voice was heard nearby, “the chairman of MASSOLIT.”

The surprised Margarita Nikolaevna turned and saw a citizen on her bench, who, apparently, silently sat down at the time when Margarita gazed at the procession and, presumably, absent-mindedly asked her last question out loud.

Meanwhile, the procession began to slow down, probably delayed by traffic lights ahead.

“Yes,” continued the unknown citizen, “they are in an amazing mood.” They are transporting a dead man, but all they can think about is where his head went!

− What head? - Margarita asked, peering at her unexpected neighbor. This neighbor turned out to be short, fiery red-haired, with a fang, in starched underwear, in a good-quality striped suit, in patent leather shoes and with a bowler hat on his head. The tie was bright. What was surprising was that this citizen had a gnawed chicken bone sticking out of the pocket where men usually carry a handkerchief or a pen.

“Yes, if you please,” the red-haired man explained, “this morning in the Griboyedov Hall they pulled the head of a dead man from the coffin.”

- How can this be? - Margarita involuntarily asked, at the same time remembering the whisper in the trolleybus.

- The devil knows how! - the redhead answered cheekily, - I, however, believe that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask Behemoth about this. They stole it horribly cleverly.

Such a scandal! And, most importantly, it is not clear who needs this head and what for!

No matter how busy Margarita Nikolaevna was with her own affairs, she was still struck by the strange lies of the unknown citizen.

- Allow me! - she suddenly exclaimed, - what Berlioz? This is what's in the newspapers today...

- How, how...

- So it’s the writers who are going after the coffin? - Margarita asked and suddenly bared her teeth.

- Well, naturally, they are!

- Do you know them by sight?

“Every single one,” answered the red-haired man.

“Tell me,” Margarita spoke, and her voice became dull, “is there a critic Latunsky among them?”

- How can it not exist? - answered the red-haired one, - there he is on the edge in the fourth row.

- Is this the blond one? - Margarita asked, squinting.

- Ash-colored... You see, he raised his eyes to the sky.

- Does he look like a priest?

- Whoa!

Margarita didn’t ask anything more, peering at Latunsky.

“And you, as I see,” the red-haired man spoke, smiling, “hate this Latunsky.”

“I still hate someone,” Margarita answered through clenched teeth, “but it’s not interesting to talk about it.”

At this time the procession moved on, mostly empty cars followed the pedestrians.

- Yes, of course, what’s interesting here, Margarita Nikolaevna!

Margarita was surprised:

− Do you know me?

Instead of answering, the red-haired man took off his bowler hat and took it away.

“Absolutely a robber’s face!” - thought Margarita, peering at her street interlocutor.

“I don’t know you,” Margarita said dryly.

- How do you know me? Meanwhile, I was sent to you on business.

Margarita turned pale and recoiled.

“This is exactly what we should have started with,” she said, “and not talk God knows what about a severed head!” Do you want to arrest me?

“Nothing of the kind,” exclaimed the red-haired man, “what is this: since he started talking, he’ll definitely arrest him!” I just have something to do with you.

- I don’t understand anything, what’s the matter?

The redhead looked around and said mysteriously:

- I was sent to invite you to visit this evening.

- Why are you raving, what kind of guests?

“To a very noble foreigner,” the red-haired man said significantly, narrowing his eye.

Margarita was very angry.

“A new breed has appeared: a street pimp,” she said, getting up to leave.

- Thank you for such instructions! - the red-haired man exclaimed offended and grumbled at the departing Margarita’s back: “Fool!”

- You bastard! - she responded, turning around, and immediately heard the red-haired voice behind her:

- The darkness that came from the Mediterranean Sea covered the city hated by the procurator. The hanging bridges connecting the temple with the terrible Anthony Tower have disappeared... Yershalaim, the great city, has disappeared, as if it did not exist in the world... So perish you with your burnt notebook and dried rose! Sit here on the bench alone and beg him to let you go free, let you breathe air, leave your memory!

Having turned white, Margarita returned to the bench. The redhead looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t understand anything,” Margarita Nikolaevna spoke quietly, “you can still find out about the leaflets... sneak in, peep... Has Natasha been bribed? Yes?

But how could you know my thoughts? - She wrinkled her face painfully and added: “Tell me, who are you?” What institution are you from?

“This is boring,” the red-haired man grumbled and spoke louder: “Forgive me, because I told you that I’m not from any institution!” Sit down please.

Margarita obeyed unquestioningly, but still, sitting down, she asked again:

-Who are you?

- Well, okay, my name is Azazello, but it still doesn’t tell you anything.

“Won’t you tell me where you learned about the sheets and my thoughts?”

“I won’t tell,” Azazello answered dryly.

- But do you know anything about him? - Margarita whispered pleadingly.

- Well, let's say I know.

- I beg you: tell me just one thing, is he alive? Don't torture.

“Well, he’s alive, he’s alive,” Azazello responded reluctantly.

- God!

“Please, without excitement and screaming,” Azazello said, frowning.

“Sorry, sorry,” muttered the now submissive Margarita, “of course I was angry with you.” But, you see, when on the street they invite a woman to visit somewhere... I have no prejudices, I assure you, - Margarita smiled sadly, - but I never see any foreigners, I have no desire to communicate with them... and besides , my husband... My drama is that I live with someone I don’t love, but I consider ruining his life an unworthy thing. I saw nothing but goodness from him...

Azazello listened to this incoherent speech with visible boredom and said sternly:

- I ask you to be silent for a moment.

Margarita fell silent obediently.

- I invite you to a completely safe foreigner. And not a single soul will know about this visit. This is what I guarantee you.

- Why did he need me? - Margarita asked insinuatingly.

- You will find out about this later.

“I understand... I have to give myself to him,” Margarita said thoughtfully.

To this Azazello chuckled arrogantly and answered like this:

“Any woman in the world, I can assure you, would dream about this,” Azazello’s face twisted with a laugh, “but I will disappoint you, this will not happen.”

- What kind of foreigner is this?! - Margarita exclaimed in confusion so loudly that the benches passing by turned to look at her, - and what interest do I have in going to him?

Azazello leaned towards her and whispered meaningfully:

- Well, there’s a lot of interest... You’ll take the opportunity...

- What? - Margarita exclaimed, and her eyes widened, - if I understand you correctly, are you hinting that I can find out about him there?

Azazello silently nodded his head.

- I'm on my way! - Margarita exclaimed forcefully and grabbed Azazello’s hand, “I’m going anywhere!”

Azazello, puffing with relief, leaned back on the bench, covering the large carved word “Nyura” with his back, and spoke ironically:

- These women are difficult people! - he put his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs far forward, - why, for example, was I sent on this matter? Let Hippopotamus ride, he’s charming...

Margarita spoke, smiling crookedly and pitifully:

- Stop mystifying me and tormenting me with your riddles... I’m an unhappy person, and you take advantage of this. I’m getting into some strange story, but, I swear, it’s only because you lured me with words about him!

I'm dizzy from all these unknowns...

“No drama, no drama,” Azazello responded, grimacing, “you also need to accept my position.” Punching an administrator in the face, or throwing an uncle out of the house, or shooting someone, or some other trifle of that kind, is my direct specialty, but talking to women in love is an obedient servant. After all, I’ve been trying to persuade you for half an hour already.

So are you going?

“I’m on my way,” Margarita Nikolaevna simply answered.

“Then take the trouble to get it,” said Azazello and, taking a round golden box from his pocket, handed it to Margarita with the words: “Hide it, otherwise passers-by will look.” It will be useful to you, Margarita Nikolaevna. You have aged quite a bit from grief over the past six months. (Margarita flushed, but did not answer, and Azazello continued.) Tonight, at exactly half past nine, take the trouble to strip naked and rub your face and whole body with this ointment. Then do what you want, but don’t leave your phone. I'll call you at ten and tell you everything you need. You will not have to worry about anything, you will be taken where you need to go, and you will not be in any way disturbed. It's clear?

Margarita was silent for a moment, then answered:

- I see. This thing is made of pure gold, as can be seen from its heaviness. Well, I understand perfectly well that they are bribing me and dragging me into some dark story, for which I will pay a lot.

“What is this,” Azazello almost hissed, “you again?”

- No, wait!

- Give me back the lipstick.

Margarita clutched the box tighter in her hand and continued:

- No, wait... I know what I'm getting into. But I go to any lengths because of him, because I have no hope for anything else in the world. But I want to tell you that if you destroy me, you will be ashamed! Yes, it's a shame! I'm dying for love! - and, beating herself on the chest, Margarita glanced at the sun.

“Give it back,” Azazello hissed in anger, “give it back, and to hell with it all.” Let them send Behemoth.

- Oh no! - Margarita exclaimed, astonishing those passing by, - I agree to everything, I agree to do this comedy with rubbing with ointment, I agree to go to hell. Will not give it back!

- Bah! - Azazello suddenly shouted and, widening his eyes at the garden lattice, began to point his finger somewhere.

Margarita turned to where Azazello was pointing, but did not find anything special. Then she turned to Azazello, wanting to get an explanation for this ridiculous “bah!”, But there was no one to give this explanation:

Margarita Nikolaevna’s mysterious interlocutor disappeared. Margarita quickly put her hand into her purse, where she had hidden the box before this scream, and made sure that it was there. Then, without thinking about anything, Margarita hurriedly ran out of the Alexander Garden.

Epilogue

Life for Muscovites has improved. Everything that happened was attributed to a mass hallucination caused by skilled magicians.

Ivan Ponyrev (Bezdomny) stopped writing poetry, and often came to the place where he last spoke with Berlioz. He found a new job as a professor of history and philosophy. Georges of Bengal remained alive and well, but he developed a habit of suddenly grabbing his neck, checking to see if his head was in place. Rimsky and Likhodeev changed jobs. The barman died of cancer. Aloisy Mogarych woke up on a train near Vyatka, but found himself without pants. Soon he returned to Moscow and took Rimsky's place. Ivan Ponyrev often dreamed of Pontius Pilate walking along the lunar path next to Yeshua, and a beautiful woman kissing the former poet on the forehead and leaving for the moon with her companion.

Author: Ekaterina Stepanova
Interesting? Save it on your wall!

The Master and MargaritaChapter 12. Black magic and its exposure

A small man in a holey yellow bowler hat and a pear-shaped crimson nose, in checkered trousers and patent leather boots rode onto the Variety stage on an ordinary two-wheeled bicycle. He made a circle to the sounds of a foxtrot, and then let out a triumphant cry, causing the bicycle to rear up. Having ridden along on one rear wheel, the man turned upside down, managed to unscrew the front wheel while moving and let it go behind the scenes, and then continued on one wheel, turning the pedals with his hands.

On a tall metal mast with a saddle on top and one wheel, a plump blonde in tights and a skirt dotted with silver stars rode out and began riding in a circle. When meeting her, the man uttered greeting cries and kicked the bowler hat off his head.

Finally, a little boy of about eight with an old face rolled up and darted between the adults on a tiny two-wheeler, to which was attached a huge car horn.

Having made several loops, the whole company, accompanied by the alarming beat of a drum from the orchestra, rolled up to the very edge of the stage, and the spectators in the first rows gasped and leaned back, because it seemed to the audience that the whole trio with their cars would crash into the orchestra.

But the bicycles stopped just at the moment when the front wheels were already threatening to slide into the abyss on the heads of the musicians. Cyclists loudly shouting “Up!” They jumped off the cars and bowed, with the blonde blowing kisses to the audience, and the little one sounding a funny signal on his horn.

Applause shook the building, a blue curtain went from both sides and covered the cyclists, the green lights with the word “exit” at the doors went out, and in the web of trapezoids under the dome, white balls lit up like the sun. There was an intermission before the last part.

The only person who was in no way interested in the miracles of the Giulli family’s bicycle technology was Grigory Danilovich Rimsky. All alone, he sat in his office, biting his thin lips, and a spasm passed over his face every now and then. The extraordinary disappearance of Likhodeev was joined by the completely unexpected disappearance of the administrator Varenukha.

Rimsky knew where he went, but he left and... did not come back! Rimsky shrugged his shoulders and whispered to himself:

- But for what?!

And, a strange thing: the easiest thing for such a business person as a financial director, of course, was to call where Varenukha had gone and find out what had happened to him, and yet he could not force himself to do this until ten o’clock in the evening.

At ten, having committed complete violence against himself, Rimsky picked up the phone and then became convinced that his phone was dead. The courier reported that other devices in the building had also become damaged. This, of course, unpleasant, but not supernatural event for some reason completely shocked the findirector, but at the same time made him happy: the need to call was no longer necessary.

Just as a red light flashed and blinked above the findirector’s head, signaling the beginning of the intermission, a courier entered and announced that a foreign artist had arrived. For some reason the financial director shuddered, and, becoming completely gloomier than a cloud, he went backstage to receive the guest performer, since there was no one else to receive him.

Curious people looked into the large restroom from the corridor, where alarm bells were already ringing, under various pretexts. There were magicians in bright robes and turbans, a speed skater in a white knitted jacket, a storyteller pale with powder, and a make-up artist.

The arriving celebrity amazed everyone with his unprecedentedly long, wonderfully cut tailcoat and the fact that he appeared in a black half mask. But most surprising of all were the black magician’s two companions: a long checkered one with a cracked pince-nez and a fat black cat, who, entering the restroom on his hind legs, sat down completely at ease on the sofa, squinting at his exposed makeup lamps.

Rimsky tried to put a smile on his face, which made it sour and angry, and bowed to the silent magician sitting next to the cat on the sofa. There was no handshake. But the cheeky checkered one introduced himself to the financial director, calling himself “their assistant.” This circumstance surprised the financial director, and again unpleasantly: the contract made absolutely no mention of any assistant.

Very forcedly and dryly, Grigory Danilovich inquired from the checkered one that had fallen on his head about where the artist’s equipment was.

“You are our heavenly diamond, most precious Mr. Director,” the magician’s assistant answered in a rattling voice, “our equipment is always with us.” Here she is! Ein, bloom, drey! - and, twirling his gnarled fingers in front of Rimsky’s eyes, he suddenly pulled out from behind the cat’s ear Rimsky’s own gold watch with a chain, which the findirector had previously had in his vest pocket under a buttoned jacket and with a chain threaded through a loop.

Rimsky involuntarily grabbed his stomach, those present gasped, and the make-up artist, looking through the door, grunted in approval.

- Your watch? Please get it,” said the checkered one, smiling cheekily and handing his property to the confused Rimsky on a dirty palm.

“Don’t get on the tram with someone like that,” the narrator quietly and cheerfully whispered to the make-up artist.

But the cat soaked something cleaner than a number with someone else's watch. Suddenly rising from the sofa, he walked up to the mirror table on his hind legs, pulled the cork out of the decanter with his front paw, poured water into a glass, drank it, put the cork back in place and wiped his mustache with a makeup rag.

Here no one even gasped, only their mouths opened, and the make-up artist whispered admiringly:

- Ay, great!

Then the bells rang alarmingly for the third time, and everyone, excited and anticipating an interesting performance, rushed out of the restroom.

A minute later, the balls in the auditorium went out, the ramp flared up and gave a reddish glow to the bottom of the curtain, and in the illuminated gap in the curtain a plump man, cheerful as a child, with a shaved face, in a rumpled tailcoat and stale underwear, appeared before the public. It was the entertainer Georges Bengalsky, well known throughout Moscow.

“So, citizens,” Bengalsky spoke, smiling with a childish smile, “now he will speak to you...” here Bengalsky interrupted himself and spoke with different intonations: “I see that the number of audiences has increased even more for the third part.” Today we have half the city! The other day I met a friend and said to him: “Why don’t you come to us? Yesterday we had half the city.” And he answers me: “And I live in the other half!” - Bengalsky paused, expecting an explosion of laughter, but since no one laughed, he continued: - ... So, the famous foreign artist Monsieur Woland is performing with a session of black magic! Well, you and I understand,” here Bengalsky smiled a wise smile, “that it does not exist in the world at all and that it is nothing more than superstition, but simply Maestro Woland has a high degree of mastery of the technique of magic, which will be evident from the very interesting part, that is, the exposure of this technology, and since we are all as one both for the technology and for its exposure, we will ask Mr. Woland!

Having uttered all this nonsense, Bengalsky clasped both hands palm to palm and waved them in greeting through the opening in the curtain, causing it to make a quiet noise and part to the sides.

The appearance of the magician with his long assistant and the cat, who entered the stage on his hind legs, was very popular with the audience.

“The chair is for me,” Woland ordered quietly, and at that same second, unknown how or where, a chair appeared on the stage, in which the magician sat down. “Tell me, dear Fagot,” Woland inquired of the checkered guy, who apparently had another name besides “Koroviev,” “what do you think, has the Moscow population changed significantly?”

The magician looked at the silent audience, amazed by the appearance of the chair out of thin air.

“Exactly so, sir,” answered Fagot Koroviev quietly.

- You are right. The townspeople have changed a lot, externally, I say, just like the city itself, however. There’s nothing to say about the costumes, but these... what’s their name... trams, cars appeared...

“Buses,” Fagot suggested respectfully.

The audience listened attentively to this conversation, believing that it was a prelude to magical tricks. The backstage was crowded with artists and stagehands, and between their faces one could see Rimsky’s tense, pale face.

The face of Bengalsky, who was nestled on the side of the stage, began to express bewilderment. He raised his eyebrows slightly and, taking advantage of the pause, spoke:

“The foreign artist expresses his admiration for Moscow, which has grown technically, and also for the Muscovites,” here Bengalsky smiled twice, first to the stalls, and then to the gallery.

Woland, Fagot and the cat turned their heads towards the entertainer.

– Did I express admiration? – the magician asked Fagot.

“No, sir, you didn’t express any admiration,” he replied.

- So what is this man saying?

- And he simply lied! - the checkered assistant announced loudly to the whole theater and, turning to Bengalsky, added: - Congratulations, citizen, having lied!

There was a splash of laughter from the gallery, and Bengalsky shuddered and widened his eyes.

– But, of course, I’m not so interested in buses, telephones and so on...

- Equipment! - suggested the checkered one.

“Exactly right, thank you,” the magician said slowly in a heavy bass voice, “but a much more important question: have these townspeople changed internally?”

- Yes, this is the most important question, sir.

In the wings they began to look at each other and shrug their shoulders, Bengalsky stood red, and Rimsky was pale. But then, as if guessing the anxiety that had begun, the magician said:

“However, we started talking, dear Bassoon, and the audience is starting to get bored.” Show me something simple first.

The hall moved with relief. The bassoon and the cat went in different directions along the ramp. Bassoon snapped his fingers and shouted recklessly:

- Three four! - I caught a deck of cards from the air, shuffled it and threw it to the cat with a ribbon. The cat intercepted the tape and threw it back. The satin snake snorted, Fagot opened his mouth like a chick, and swallowed it all, card by card.

After this, the cat bowed, shuffling his right hind paw, and caused incredible applause.

- Cool, cool! – they shouted in admiration backstage.

And Fagot pointed his finger at the stalls and announced:

“This tapericha deck, dear citizens, is in the seventh row of citizen Parchevsky, just between the three-ruble note and the summons to appear in court in the case of paying alimony to citizen Zelkova.

There was a stir in the stalls, they began to stand up, and finally some citizen, whose name was definitely Parchevsky, all crimson with amazement, took a deck out of his wallet and began poking it in the air, not knowing what to do with it.

– Let it remain as a keepsake for you! - Fagot shouted. – No wonder you said yesterday at dinner that if it weren’t for poker, your life in Moscow would be completely unbearable.

“It’s an old thing,” one heard from the gallery, “this one in the stalls is from the same company.”

- Do you think so? - Fagot shouted, squinting at the gallery, - in that case, you’re in the same gang with us, because it’s in your pocket!

There was movement in the gallery, and a joyful voice was heard:

- Right! Him! Here, here... Stop! Yes, these are chervonets!

Those sitting in the stalls turned their heads. In the gallery, some distraught citizen discovered in his pocket a bundle tied in a bank account and with the inscription on the cover: “One thousand rubles.”

The neighbors piled on him, and in amazement he picked at the cover with his fingernail, trying to find out whether these were real chervonets or some kind of magic ones.

- By God, they are real! Chervontsy! - they shouted joyfully from the gallery.

“Play this deck with me,” a fat man in the middle of the ground asked cheerfully.

- Avek plaisir! - Fagot responded, - but why with you alone? Everyone will warmly participate! - and commanded: - Please look up!... One! – a pistol appeared in his hand, he shouted: “Two!” – The gun jerked upward. He shouted: “Three!” - it flashed, boomed, and immediately from under the dome, diving between the trapezoids, white pieces of paper began to fall into the hall.

They were spinning, being blown to the sides, being driven into the gallery, thrown into the orchestra and onto the stage. A few seconds later, the rain of money, growing thicker, reached the seats, and the audience began to catch pieces of paper.

Hundreds of hands rose, the audience looked through the pieces of paper at the illuminated stage and saw the most faithful and righteous watermarks. The smell also left no doubt: it was the incomparable smell of freshly printed money. First merriment, and then amazement gripped the entire theater. Everywhere the word “chervonetsy, chervonetsy” was buzzing, exclamations of “ah, ah!” and cheerful laughter. Some were already crawling in the aisle, groping under the chairs. Many stood on the seats, catching fidgety, capricious pieces of paper.

The faces of the police gradually began to express bewilderment, and the artists began to lean out of the wings without ceremony.

A voice was heard on the mezzanine: “What are you grabbing? That's mine! It was flying towards me!” And another voice: “Don’t push me, I’ll push you like that myself!” And suddenly a splash was heard. Immediately a policeman’s helmet appeared on the mezzanine, and someone was led out of the mezzanine.

In general, the excitement increased, and it is unknown what all this would have resulted in if Fagot had not stopped the rain of money by suddenly blowing into the air.

The two young people, exchanging a significant, cheerful glance, rose from their seats and headed straight to the buffet. There was a buzz in the theater, all the spectators' eyes sparkled with excitement. Yes, yes, it is unknown what all this would have resulted in if Bengalsky had not found the strength in himself and had not moved. Trying to gain better control of himself, he rubbed his hands together out of habit and spoke in a voice of the greatest sonority:

– Here, citizens, we have seen a case of so-called mass hypnosis. Purely scientific experience, which proves in the best possible way that no miracles or magic exist. Let us ask Maestro Woland to expose this experience to us. Now, citizens, you will see how these supposedly monetary pieces of paper will disappear as suddenly as they appeared.

Here he applauded, but in complete solitude, and at the same time he had a confident smile on his face, but in his eyes there was no such confidence at all, and rather a plea was expressed in them.

The public did not like Bengalsky's speech. There was complete silence, which was interrupted by the checkered Bassoon.

“This is again a case of so-called lies,” he announced in a loud goat tenor, “pieces of paper, citizens, real!”

- Bravo! – the bass barked abruptly somewhere in the heights.

“By the way, this one,” here Fagot pointed to Bengalsky, “I’m tired of.” He pokes his head around all the time where he is not asked, ruining the session with false remarks! What should we do with him?

-Tear off his head! - someone said sternly in the gallery.

- How do you say? Ass? - Fagot immediately responded to this ugly proposal, - tear off his head? This is an idea! Hippopotamus! - he shouted to the cat, - do it! Ein, bloom, drey!

And an unprecedented thing happened. The fur on the black cat stood on end, and he meowed heartbreakingly. Then he curled up into a ball and, like a panther, swung straight at Bengalsky’s chest, and from there jumped to his head. Rumbling, the cat grabbed the entertainer's thin hair with its plump paws and, howling wildly, tore the head off his plump neck in two turns.

Two and a half thousand people in the theater screamed as one. Blood flowed upward in fountains from the torn arteries on the neck and flooded both the shirtfront and tailcoat. The headless body somehow absurdly raked its legs and sat down on the floor. Hysterical screams of women were heard in the hall. The cat handed the head to Fagot, who picked it up by the hair and showed it to the audience, and this head desperately shouted to the whole theater:

- The doctors!

– Are you going to talk nonsense in the future? – Fagot asked menacingly to the crying head.

- I won’t do it again! – the head croaked.

- For God's sake, don't torture him! – suddenly, covering the din, a female voice sounded from the box, and the magician turned his face towards this voice.

- So, citizens, should we forgive him, or what? – Fagot asked, addressing the audience.

- Forgive me! Forgive! - At first, separate and predominantly female voices were heard, and then they merged into one chorus with male ones.

- What do you order, sir? – Fagot asked the disguised man.

“Well,” he responded thoughtfully, “they are people like people.” They love money, but this has always been the case... Humanity loves money, no matter what it is made of, whether leather, paper, bronze or gold. Well, they are frivolous... well, well... and mercy sometimes knocks on their hearts... ordinary people... in general, they resemble the old ones... the housing problem has only spoiled them... - and loudly ordered: - Put your head on.

The cat, aiming more carefully, put his head on his neck, and she sat down exactly in her place, as if she had never left.

And most importantly, there wasn’t even a scar left on my neck. The cat fanned Bengalsky’s tailcoat and plastron with his paws, and traces of blood disappeared from them. Fagot raised the seated Bengalsky to his feet, put a wad of chervonets in his coat pocket and escorted him off the stage with the words:

- Get out of here! It's more fun without you.

Looking around senselessly and staggering, the entertainer only made it to the fire station, and there things became worse for him. He cried out pitifully:

- My head, my head!

Among others, Rimsky rushed to him. The entertainer was crying, catching something in the air with his hands, muttering:

- Give me my head! Give me your head! Take the apartment, take the paintings, just give me your head!

The courier ran for the doctor. They tried to put Bengalsky on the sofa in the restroom, but he began to fight back and became violent. I had to call a carriage. When the unfortunate entertainer was taken away, Rimsky ran back to the stage and saw new miracles happening on it. Yes, by the way, whether at this time or a little earlier, only the magician, along with his faded chair, disappeared from the stage, and it must be said that the audience did not notice this at all, carried away by the extraordinary things that Fagot unfolded on stage.

And Fagot, having sent the injured entertainer away, announced to the public like this:

- Tapericha, when this annoying thing is sold out, let's open a ladies' store!

And immediately the floor of the stage was covered with Persian carpets, huge mirrors appeared, illuminated from the sides by greenish tubes, and between the mirrors were display cases, and in them the spectators, in amused amazement, saw Parisian women's dresses of different colors and styles. This is in some windows, and in others hundreds of ladies' hats appeared, both with feathers and without feathers, and with buckles, and without them, and hundreds of shoes - black, white, yellow, leather, satin, suede, and with straps, and with pebbles. Cases appeared between the shoes, and the shiny edges of crystal bottles sparkled with light. Mountains of handbags made of antelope skin, suede, silk, and between them - whole piles of hammered gold oblong cases in which lipstick can be found.

The devil knows where a red-haired girl in a black evening dress came from, a good girl to everyone, if only the freakish scar on her neck didn’t spoil her, she smiled at the shop windows with a master’s smile.

Bassoon, smiling sweetly, announced that the company was exchanging old ladies' dresses and shoes for Parisian models and Parisian shoes completely free of charge. He added the same regarding handbags, perfumes and other things.

The cat began to shuffle with its hind paw and front paw and at the same time making some gestures characteristic of doormen opening the door.

The girl, although hoarse, sang sweetly, burbling, something incomprehensible, but, judging by the women’s faces in the stalls, very seductive:

– Guerlain, Chanel number five, Mitsuko, Narcisse noir, evening dresses, cocktail dresses...

The bassoon wriggled, the cat bowed, the girl opened glass cases.

- Ask! - Fagot shouted, - without any embarrassment or ceremony!

The audience was worried, but no one dared to go on stage yet. But finally some brunette came out of the tenth row of the stalls and, smiling so that she didn’t really care and didn’t care at all, walked up the side ladder and up to the stage.

- Bravo! - Fagot cried, - I welcome the first visitor! Hippopotamus, chair! Let's start with the shoes, madam.

The brunette sat down in a chair, and Fagot immediately dumped a whole pile of shoes on the carpet in front of her.

The brunette took off her right shoe, tried on the lilac one, stomped into the carpet, and examined the heel.

-Won’t they reap? – she asked thoughtfully.

To this Fagot exclaimed offendedly:

- What are you, what are you! – and the cat meowed out of resentment.

“I’ll take this pair, monsieur,” the brunette said with dignity, putting on the second shoe.

The brunette's old shoes were thrown behind the curtain, and she herself followed there, accompanied by a red-haired girl and Fagot, who carried several fashion dresses on hangers. The cat fussed, helped and, for greater importance, hung a centimeter around his neck.

A minute later, a brunette in such a dress came out from behind the curtain that a sigh rang throughout the entire stalls. The brave woman, who had become amazingly prettier, stopped at the mirror, moved her bare shoulders, touched the hair on the back of her head and bent, trying to look behind herself.

“The company asks you to accept this as a souvenir,” Fagot said and handed the brunette an open case with a bottle.

“Mercy,” the brunette answered arrogantly and walked along the ladder to the stalls. While she was walking, the audience jumped up and touched the case.

And then it broke through completely, and women came onto the stage from all sides. In the general excited chatter, laughter and sighs, a man’s voice was heard: “I won’t let you!” - and the female one: “Despot and tradesman, don’t break my hand!” The women disappeared behind the curtain, left their dresses there and came out wearing new ones. A whole row of ladies sat on stools with gilded legs, vigorously stamping their newly shod feet into the carpet. The bassoon knelt down, wielded a horny dresser, the cat, exhausted under piles of handbags and shoes, dragged itself from the display case to the stools and back, the girl with a disfigured neck appeared and disappeared and reached the point where she completely began to rattle in French, and surprisingly was that all the women understood her perfectly, even those who did not know a single French word.

General amazement was caused by a man who squeezed onto the stage. He announced that his wife had the flu and that he therefore asked him to convey something to her through him. To prove that he was really married, the citizen was ready to present his passport. The caring husband’s statement was met with laughter, Fagot shouted that he believed as himself, even without a passport, and handed the citizen two pairs of silk stockings, the cat himself adding a case of lipstick.

Late women rushed to the stage, lucky women in ball gowns, pajamas with dragons, formal business suits, and hats pulled down over one eyebrow flowed from the stage.

Then Fagot announced that due to the late hour the store was closing until tomorrow evening in exactly one minute, and an incredible bustle arose on the stage. The women quickly, without any fitting, grabbed the shoes. One, like a storm, burst behind the curtain, threw off her suit there and took possession of the first thing that turned up - a silk robe, in huge bouquets, and, in addition, managed to pick up two cases of perfume.

Exactly a minute later a pistol shot rang out, the mirrors disappeared, display cases and stools fell through, the carpet melted into the air just like the curtain. The last thing to disappear was the tall mountain of old dresses and shoes, and the stage became again austere, empty and bare.

And here a new character intervened.

A pleasant, sonorous and very persistent baritone was heard from box No. 2:

“It’s still desirable, Citizen Artist, that you immediately expose to the audience the technique of your tricks, especially the trick with banknotes.” It is also desirable for the entertainer to return to the stage. His fate worries the audience.

The baritone belonged to none other than the guest of honor for this evening, Arkady Apollonovich Sempleyarov, chairman of the acoustic commission of Moscow theaters.

Arkady Apollonovich was seated in a box with two ladies: an elderly one, expensively and fashionably dressed, and the other, young and pretty, dressed more simply. The first of them, as it soon became clear when drawing up the protocol, was the wife of Arkady Apollonovich, and the second was his distant relative, an aspiring and promising actress who came from Saratov and lived in the apartment of Arkady Apollonovich and his wife.

- Sorry! - Fagot responded, - I apologize, there is nothing to expose here, everything is clear.

- No, it’s my fault! Exposure is absolutely necessary. Without this, your brilliant numbers will leave a painful impression. The masses of spectators demand an explanation.

“The masses of spectators,” the insolent gayer interrupted Sempleyarov, “as if they didn’t say anything?” But, taking into account your respected desire, Arkady Apollonovich, so be it, I will make an expose. But for this, will you allow one more tiny number?

“Why not,” answered Arkady Apollonovich patronizingly, “but certainly with exposure!”

- I obey, I obey. So, let me ask you, where were you last night, Arkady Apollonovich?

At this inappropriate and even, perhaps, boorish question, Arkady Apollonovich’s face changed, and changed quite a lot.

“Arkady Apollonovich was at a meeting of the acoustic commission last night,” Arkady Apollonovich’s wife said very arrogantly, “but I don’t understand what this has to do with magic.”

- Ouch, madam! - Fagot confirmed, - naturally, you don’t understand. You are completely mistaken about the meeting. Having left for the aforementioned meeting, which, by the way, was not scheduled yesterday, Arkady Apollonovich released his driver at the building of the acoustic commission on Chistye Prudy (the entire theater fell silent), and he himself went by bus to Elokhovskaya Street to visit the artist of the traveling regional theater Militsa Andreevna Pokobatko and spent about four hours visiting her.

- Oh! – someone exclaimed painfully in complete silence.

A young relative of Arkady Apollonovich suddenly burst out laughing with a low and terrible laugh.

- All clear! - she exclaimed, - and I have long suspected this. Now it’s clear to me why this mediocrity got the role of Louise!

And, suddenly swinging a short and thick purple umbrella, she hit Arkady Apollonovich on the head.

The vile Fagot, who is also Koroviev, shouted:

- Here, respectable citizens, is one of the cases of exposure that Arkady Apollonovich so persistently sought!

- How dare you, scoundrel, touch Arkady Apollonovich? – Arkady Apollonovich’s wife asked menacingly, rising in the box to her full gigantic height.

A second short burst of satanic laughter took possession of the young relative.

“Well, who is who,” she answered, laughing, “and I dare to touch it!” – and for the second time the dry crack of an umbrella was heard, bouncing off Arkady Apollonovich’s head.

- Police! Take her! – Sempleyarov’s wife shouted in such a terrible voice that many people’s hearts turned cold.

And then the cat jumped out to the ramp and suddenly barked at the whole theater in a human voice:

- The session is over! Maestro! Shorten the march!!

The maddened conductor, not realizing what he was doing, waved his baton, and the orchestra did not play, and did not even strike, and did not even suffice, namely, according to the disgusting expression of the cat, he cut off some incredible, unlike anything else, the swagger of his march.

For a moment it seemed as if some obscure but bold words of this march had once been heard, under the southern stars, in a café:

His Excellency

Loved poultry

And took under his protection

Pretty girls!!!

Or maybe there weren’t any of these words, but there were others set to the same music, some extremely indecent ones. This is not important, but what is important is that after all this, something like Babylonian pandemonium began in Variety. The police were running towards the Sempleyar box, curious people were climbing onto the barrier, hellish bursts of laughter and frantic screams were heard, drowned out by the golden ringing of cymbals from the orchestra.

And it was clear that the stage was suddenly empty and that the fool Fagot, as well as the impudent cat Behemoth, melted into the air, disappeared, just as the magician had previously disappeared in a chair with faded upholstery.