Let's digress for a moment from the satirical structure of the novel. Let's forget about the powerful Woland and his associates, about the mysterious incidents that befell Moscow, let's skip the wonderful insert "poem" about Pontius Pilate and Jesus of Nazareth. Let's sift through the novel, leaving everyday reality.
Aspiring writer writes historical story religious content. At the same time, he meets Margarita and they fall in love. A modest, almost beggarly life and vivid feelings. And creativity.
Finally, the fruits of this creativity are brought to the attention of the literary community of the capital. The same public that persecuted Bulgakov himself: some out of envy of his talent, some at the instigation of the “competent authorities.” The reaction is natural - buckets of dirt disguised as “benevolent” criticism.
The Master is depressed. He is placed in a psychoneurological hospital. Margarita is in complete despair, she is ready to sell her soul to the devil in order to return her beloved.
Here is a simple story, typical of that cruel time. Everything else is imagination. Imagination brought to reality. Fulfillment of desires.
And it is not at all strange that justice is restored not by grandfather God, but by black forces cast down from heaven, but remaining by angels. Those who honor the bright martyr Yeshua, who can appreciate high feelings and high talent. It’s not strange, because Russia is already ruled by “unclean” people of the lowest caliber.
It is Love for the Master that illuminates the road that leads Margarita to Woland. It is Love that arouses the respect of Woland and his retinue for this woman. The most are powerless before Love dark forces- they either obey her or give way to her.
Reality is cruel; in order for souls to reunite, they must leave their bodies. Margarita happily throws off her body like a burden, like old linen, leaving it to the festering degenerates who rule Moscow. Mustachioed and non-mustachioed, party and non-party.
Now she is free!
It is curious that Margarita “appears” only in the second part. And immediately follows chapter 20: “Cream Azazello.” Remember - “The cream spread easily and, as it seemed to Margarita, it immediately evaporated...”. Here the writer’s dream of freedom is especially clearly manifested. Satire turns into allegory. The actions of Margarita the Witch are partly vindictive; they express Bulgakov’s disgusted attitude towards those opportunists who took warm places in the writer’s workshop, towards literary opportunists. Here you can find similarities with " Theatrical novel“- the prototypes ridiculed by Bulgakov among writers and theatergoers are concrete and long established.
Starting from the twentieth chapter, the phantasmagoria increases, but the theme of love sounds more and more powerfully, and Margarita is no longer just a woman in love, she is a queen. And she uses her royal dignity to forgive and have mercy. Without forgetting the main thing - the Master.
To free yourself, you must drink poison. How not to see the identity of Shakespeare's tragedy and Bulgakov's novel. And here and there, lovers drink poison and die in each other’s arms.
But this is not the only similarity of the novel. The master is "about 38 years old" - Bulgakov was 38 years old by May 1929, by the time the first edition of the book was completed. Like the Master, Bulgakov burned the first edition of the novel “The Master and Margarita.”
Autobiography? Dream of freedom?..
Bulgakov gives us lessons of courage, wisdom, and warnings about the dangers of the philosophy of violence. He teaches us to fight for our ideals, for the right to love and hate.
Unlike Platonov, Zamyatin, Pilnyak, the artist did not feel delighted with October Revolution. His understanding of this event clearly did not coincide with the general ideological trend. He saw the costs revolutionary movement much earlier than his fellow writers. The essence of the writer's concept was the rejection of violence against nature, man, and history. Rejecting the principles of so-called revolutionary humanism, Bulgakov put himself in opposition to official ideology. The writer’s artistic ideal contained ideas about a highly moral personality, existing outside the social laws of a particular era. About a free personality, capable of high feelings.
And, above all, about love. It’s not for nothing that the second part of the novel begins with the words: “Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no real, true, eternal love? May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!
Follow me, my reader, and only me, and I will show you such love!”
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 kind of 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 for me, a truthful narrator, but stranger, my heart aches 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 the master was 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 error! - 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 Kyiv, 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 a cloudy sky 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 me, then it means that he came for me, and I will soon die. This is very good, because then the torment will come the end. Or he is alive, then the dream can only mean that he reminds me of himself! He wants to say that we will see each other again 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 of all this luxurious apartment. best place. 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 between sheets of tissue paper and part of a notebook with a whole sheet of paper, 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: “... The darkness that came from 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 disappeared - the great city, as if it did not exist on light..."
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, aren’t you ashamed,” 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 one 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 did you go?
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 the story,” said Margarita Nikolaevna, “I’ve been noticing her for a long time that she’s 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 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 bright sun, recalled her dream today, recalled how exactly a year, day after day and hour after hour, on this same bench she sat 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. Have you stopped loving me? No, for some reason I don’t I believe. It means you were exiled and died... Then, I ask you, let me go, finally give me freedom to live, to breathe 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. Some man glanced sideways at the good clothed 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, and there’s nothing wrong with this womanizer, except maybe the stupid word “definitely”? Why am I sitting like this? 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 there is a coffin covered in wreaths, and in the corners of the site there are four standing person: three men, one woman. Even from a distance, Margarita saw that the faces of the people standing in the funeral car, accompanying the deceased to last path, some 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 this? Just mysticism!” 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 how the sad Turkish drum died away in the distance, making the same “Booms, booms, booms,” and thought: “What a strange funeral... And what melancholy from this “boom”! Ah, Really, I would pawn 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 somewhat nasal voice was heard nearby male voice, - 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 see,” the red-haired man explained, “this morning in the Griboedov 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.
Let me! - she suddenly exclaimed, - what Berlioz? This is what's in the newspapers today...
How, how...
So, it means that the writers 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 of them,” answered the red-haired man.
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?
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.”
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 about the severed head!” Do you want to arrest me?
“Nothing like that,” exclaimed the red-haired man, “what is it: 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 distinguished foreigner,” the red-haired man said significantly, narrowing his eye.
Margarita was very angry.
A new breed has appeared: the street pimp,” she said as she got up to leave.
Thank you for such instructions! - the red-haired man exclaimed offended and grumbled at the departing Margarita’s back: “Fool!”
Scoundrel! - 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 you and your burnt notebook and dried rose will perish! 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 sheets... 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!” Please sit down.
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.
But 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.
Please, without excitement and screaming,” Azazello said, frowning.
Sorry, sorry,” muttered the now submissive Margarita, “of course I was angry with you.” But, you must admit, when a woman is invited to visit somewhere on the street... 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 it unworthy to ruin his life. I saw nothing but goodness from him...
Azazello listened to this incoherent speech with visible boredom and said sternly:
I ask you to remain 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 learn 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 of 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 is a lot of interest... You will take advantage of 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 Behemoth drive, he's charming...
Margarita spoke, smiling crookedly and pitifully:
Stop mystifying me and tormenting me with your riddles... I am an unhappy person, and you take advantage of this. I'm climbing into some strange story, but, I swear, only because you lured me with words about him! I'm getting dizzy from all these unknowns...
“No dramas, no dramas,” Azazello responded, grimacing, “you also need to accept my situation.” 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 going,” 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:
It's clear. 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 back the lipstick.
Margarita clutched the box tighter in her hand and continued:
No, wait... I know what I'm getting into. But I’ll do anything because of him, because I won’t do anything in the world. more hope I have no. 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. I won't give it up!
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 absurd “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.
Message quote The Master and Margarita. Quotes and illustrations
Having seen these wonderful illustrations for Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel “The Master and Margarita” by a very talented, in my opinion, artist under the nickname stoneturtle, I could not pass by. And quotes from the novel, in my opinion, go well with them. However, judge for yourself.
My God, how sad the evening earth is
Spleen - Romance
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!
Ha-Nozri
Something bad, if you please, lurks in men who avoid wine, games, the company of lovely women, and table conversation. Such people are either seriously ill or secretly hate those around them. True, exceptions are possible. Among the people who sat down with me at the banquet table, I sometimes came across amazing scoundrels!
Levi
Is this vodka? - Margarita asked weakly. The cat jumped up in his chair from offense. “For mercy, queen,” he wheezed, “would I allow myself to pour vodka for the lady?” This is pure alcohol!
Morning Likhodeev
Would you be so kind as to think about the question: what would your good do if evil did not exist, and what would the earth look like if shadows disappeared from it? After all, shadows come from objects and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But there are shadows from trees and from living creatures. Don't you want to rip off the entire globe, sweeping away all the trees and all living things because of your fantasy of enjoying the naked light?
On the roof
Ah, sir, my wife, if only I had her, risked being a widow twenty times! But, fortunately, sir, I am not married, and I will tell you straight - I am happy that I am not married. Ah, sir, is it possible to exchange single freedom for a painful yoke!
Never talk to strangers
Eyes are a significant thing. Like a barometer. Everything is visible: who has great dryness in his soul, who can poke the toe of his boot into his ribs for no reason, and who is afraid of everyone.
But to the point, Margarita Nikolaevna
An unhappy person is cruel and callous. And all just because good people mutilated him. - Good people? Is that what you call everyone? - Everyone, evil people not in the world.
Sadovaya
Love jumped out in front of us, like a killer jumps out of the ground in an alley, and struck us both at once!
The session is over. Maestro, shorten the march!
Insult is a common reward for good work.
Koroviev and the hippopotamus
We are talking to you in different languages, as always, but the things we talk about don’t change.
Afranius and Pilate
He who loves must share the fate of the one he loves.
Master's disease
People are 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, frivolous... well, well... ordinary people... in general, they resemble the old ones... housing issue I just ruined them...
Azazello cream
It's nice to hear that you treat your cat so politely. For some reason, cats usually say you, although not a single cat has ever drunk brotherhood with anyone.
Globe of Woland
Never ask for anything! Never and nothing, and especially among those who are stronger than you. They will offer and give everything themselves!
The master's memories of his meeting with Margarita
Margarita's final monologue
Composition.
“Who told you that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world?..” (Based on the novel “The Master and Margarita” by M.A. Bulgakov)
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov is a great Russian writer. His work received well-deserved recognition and became an integral part of our culture. Bulgakov's works are very popular these days. But these works have stood the test of time and now make a worthy contribution to today's life. Speaking about the writer’s work, one cannot fail to mention his biography.
M.A. Bulgakov was born in one thousand eight hundred and ninety-one in Kyiv in the family of a learned clergyman. The writer's mother and father honored the Christian commandments, which they also taught their son. Mikhail Afanasyevich conveys in his works everything that he learned in childhood from his parents. An example is the novel “The Master and Margarita,” on which the author worked before last day of your life. Bulgakov created this book, being sure of the impossibility of its lifetime publication. Now, the novel, published more than a quarter of a century after it was written, is known to the entire reading world. He brought the writer posthumous world fame. Outstanding creative minds consider Bulgakov’s work “The Master and Margarita” to be one of the pinnacle phenomena artistic culture twentieth century. This novel is multifaceted, reflecting romance and realism, painting and clairvoyance.
The main plot of the work is the “true, faithful, eternal love” of the Master and Margarita. Enmity, distrust of people who think differently, envy reigns in the world that surrounds the Master and Margarita.
Master, main character Bulgakov's novel, creates a novel about Christ and Pilate. This hero is an unrecognized artist, and somewhere an interlocutor with the greats of this world, driven by a thirst for knowledge. He is trying to penetrate into the depths of centuries in order to understand the eternal. Master is collective image a person striving to understand the eternal laws of morality.
One day, while walking, the Master met his future beloved Margarita on the corner of Tverskaya and Lane. The heroine, whose name is included in the title of the novel, occupies a unique position in the structure of the work. Bulgakov himself describes her as follows: “She was beautiful and smart. One more thing must be added to this - we can confidently say that many would give anything to exchange their life for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna.”
Under random circumstances, the Master and Margarita met each other and fell in love so deeply that they became inseparable. “Ivan learned that part of him and his secret wife, already in the first days of their relationship, came to the conclusion that fate itself had pushed them together on the corner of Tverskaya and Lane and that they were bound to each other forever.”
Margarita in the novel is the bearer of enormous, poetic, comprehensive and inspired love, which the author called “eternal.” She has become a wonderful image of a woman who loves. And the more unattractive, “boring, crooked” the lane where this love arises appears before us, the more unusual this feeling turns out to be, flashing with “lightning.” Margarita, with selfless love, overcomes the chaos of life. She creates her own destiny, fights for the Master, defeating her own weaknesses. While attending a light full moon ball, Margarita saves the Master. Under the rumbles of a cleansing thunderstorm, their love passes into eternity.
By creating the novel “The Master and Margarita,” Bulgakov wanted to point out to us, his successors, not only the antithesis of good and evil, but also, perhaps most importantly, that “eternal” love that exists both in the world of illusions and in reality.
Bulgakov’s words in the second part of the novel make this clear: “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!
My reader follows me, and only me, and I will show you such love!”
And M.A. Bulgakov, indeed, showed and proved that such love exists.
“The Master and Margarita” is a complex work; not everything in it is meaningful. Readers are destined to understand this novel in their own way, to discover its values. Bulgakov wrote “The Master and Margarita” as a historically and psychologically reliable book about his time and its people, and therefore the novel became a unique human document of that era. And yet this work is directed to the future, is a book for all times.
The novel “The Master and Margarita” will remain in the history of Russian and world literature not only as evidence of the human fortitude and citizenship of Bulgakov the writer, not only as a hymn to a creative man - the Master, not only as the story of Margarita’s unearthly love, but also as a grandiose monument to Moscow, which is now inevitably perceived by us in the light of this great work. This novel by Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov is a unique masterpiece of Russian literature.
There's a witch in this room
There was one before me:
Her shadow is still visible
On the eve of the new moon.
A. Akhmatova
More than sixty years have passed since the death of the great M. Bulgakov.
The writer's tombstone Novodevichy Cemetery became a stone from the grave of his beloved N.V. Gogol. Now there are two names on it. Next to his Master lies his Margarita, Elena Sergeevna Bulgakova. It was she who became the prototype of this most captivating female image in Russian literature of the 20th century.
“Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no real... love in the world?.. Follow me, reader, and only me, and I will show you such love! This is how Bulgakov begins the second part of his “sunset” novel, as if anticipating the joy of a story about an inspired feeling at first sight.
The meeting of heroes occurs by chance.
The master tells the poet Bezdomny about her. So, before us is a woman in a black spring coat, carrying in her hands “disgusting, alarming, yellow flowers" The hero was struck not so much by her beauty, “but
Why is Margarita so lonely? What is she missing in her life? After all, she has a young and handsome husband, who also “adored his wife,” lives in a beautiful mansion on one of the Arbat alleys, and does not need money.
What did this woman need, in whose eyes some incomprehensible fire was burning! Is he, the master, really a man from a squalid basement apartment, lonely, withdrawn? And before our eyes, a miracle happened, about which Bulgakov wrote so vividly: “...I suddenly... realized that I had loved this woman all my life!” Appearing as a sudden insight, instantly flared up love turns out to be stronger than everyday hardships, suffering, stronger than death.
This woman became not just the artist’s secret wife, but his Muse: “She promised glory, urged him on, and that’s when she began to call him a master.”
They felt good and calm together.
But then the dark days come: the written novel was subjected to fierce criticism. The love idyll ended, the struggle began. And it was Margarita who was ready for her. Neither bullying, nor serious illness, nor the disappearance of a loved one can extinguish love. Like Levi Matthew, she is ready to give up everything to follow the Master and, if necessary, die with him. Margarita is the only real reader of the novel about Pontius Pilate, his critic and defender.
For Bulgakov, fidelity in love and perseverance in creativity are phenomena of the same order. Moreover, Margarita turns out to be stronger than the master. She knows neither the feeling of fear nor confusion before life. “I believe,” the woman repeats this word constantly. She is ready to pay for her love
in full: “Oh, really, I would pledge my soul to the devil just to find out whether he is alive or not!”
The devil didn't have to wait long. Azazello’s miraculous cream, a flying mop and other attributes of a witch become in the novel symbols of spiritual liberation from a hated house, from an honest and kind, but such a strange husband: “Margarita felt free from everything... she leaves the mansion and her old life forever!” .
An entire chapter is devoted to the flight of Margarita. Fantasy and grotesque reach their highest intensity here. The rapture of flying over the “mists of the dewy world” is replaced by a completely realistic revenge on Latoons. And the “wild destruction” of the hated critic’s apartment is adjacent to words of tenderness addressed to a four-year-old boy.
At Woland's ball we meet the new Margarita, the all-powerful queen, a participant in the satanic coven. And all this for the sake of a loved one. However, for Margarita, love is closely connected with mercy. Even after becoming a witch, she does not forget about others. That's why her first request is about Frida. Captivated by the woman’s nobility, Woland returns to her not only his beloved, but also his burned novel: after all, true love and true creativity is not subject to either decay or fire.
We see the lovers again in their small apartment. “Margarita cried quietly from the shock and happiness she experienced. The notebook, mangled by fire, lay in front of her.”
But Bulgakov does not prepare for his heroes happy ending. In a world where callousness and lies prevail, there is no place for either love or creativity.
It is interesting that in the novel there are two pictures of the death of lovers.
One of them is quite realistic, giving an accurate version of death. At that moment when the patient, placed in room 118 of the Stravinsky Clinic, died in his bed, at the other end of Moscow in a Gothic mansion, Margarita Nikolaevna came out of her room, suddenly turned pale, clutched her heart and fell to the floor.
In the fantastical plane, our heroes drink Falernian wine and are transported to another world, where they are promised eternal peace. “Listen to the soundlessness,” Margarita said to the master, and the sand rustled under her bare feet, “listen and enjoy what you were not given in life - silence... I will take care of your sleep.”
Now in our memory they will forever remain together even after death.
And the stone from Gogol’s grave went deep into the ground, as if protecting M. Bulgakov and his Margarita from vanity and everyday hardships, preserving this all-conquering love.