The Master and Margarita

"Think, now: where would your good be if there were no evil and what would the world look like without shadow?"

I've been collecting looks while I've been reading this book—curious, concerned, amused, and, at times, even annoyed looks. This book, of course, is to blame because I quite literally couldn't help laughing each time I read through its pages.

This is the most spectacularly ridiculous book I have ever read. The devil and his posse of odd characters, among them a big black talking cat, descend on Moscow wreaking havoc to the literary community there and those connected to it.

I have never seen a project do so many things and succeed at each one of them excellently. Even for a person like me who is no expert on Russian show more Literature during the Stalin years, the political and social commentary is clear. Literature, and art in general, becomes more allegorical, makes uses of symbols, and is less direct and literal in a society faced with censorship and repression, which might bring lots of interpretations to a work like this, including narrow and uniformed ones. And so sticking to what I am sure of and know, this book is a delicious and fantastic offering.

Among the many things that fascinated me is how evil is presented here. It takes so many forms, is to be expected, is at times performed alongside the good and complicated. Given the liberties this book takes and how it blurs reality and even seems to make a joke of it, I am surprised by how well received it was by Western critics who normally look down on works like this. This is also one of those books that feel large, in that so much happened and so much is touched on, but what a treat from beginning to the end. show less

I have read this novel several times, most recently with our Thursday evening book group. With its complex construction including three major story lines and fantastic elements including the presence of Satan and a large black cat as two major characters it certainly warrants rereading. And it rewards that rereading with a wonderful depth of meaning. The story is set in Moscow in the nineteen thirties when literature is controlled by the state. The reality of Soviet state suppression is one of the primary story lines and this is displayed with a flair for satire. The major state literary association is chaired by a bureaucrat named Berlioz. One of the main reasons I liked the book was its fundamental literary foundation with strong show more influence of the Faust story and the work of Russians, particularly Gogol and Pushkin.

The style seems dreamlike one moment and yet suddenly becomes very realistic. For example at one point Ivan Ponyrev, the "homeless" poet, is involved in a fantastic chase with the large black cat by his side as they jump from street to street until, with the beginning of a new paragraph, he is in a very dingy apartment building that is described in realistic detail. There is also the whimsy of naming several of the characters after famous composers, Berlioz and Rimsky [Korsakoff] for two examples. This appealed to my musical interests while the literary references abound as seen by this excerpt:
“You're not Dostoevsky,' said the citizeness, who was getting muddled by Koroviev. Well, who knows, who knows,' he replied.
'Dostoevsky's dead,' said the citizeness, but somehow not very confidently.
'I protest!' Behemoth exclaimed hotly. 'Dostoevsky is immortal!”

Satan, referred to as Woland and appearing as an old professor, with his familiar, a cat called Behemoth, prepares a fantastic ball (compare to Walpurgisnacht). At the ball the cat with the help of demons creates a scene of mayhem and ferocious comedy. I came to appreciate the humor even more after seeing a dramatic adaptation of it performed by a small theater company some time ago. The imagination displayed by the adaptation expanded my own horizons upon a subsequent rereading.

The satire becomes more apparent after rereading the novel while other humor includes slapstick episodes and the sheer insanity of the story. Another primary story line is religious as it is depicted through an inserted tale of Pontius Pilate and Christ as written by the poet known as the Master. With his mistress, Margarita, the Master leads the novel into a final phase that continues the fantastic elements of the story. I found the new translation by Pevear and Volokhonsky excellent as all their Russian translations have been. For those readers interested in magic and supernaturalism, Satan and Pontius Pilate with a beauty and a poet, this is the novel for you. This is certainly a twentieth century masterpiece. show less

What a superb novel. Beautifully written, seamlessly crafted, brilliant. It took me a while to get into it, because it's no simple read, and I didn't have a block of time to devote to it. But once I spent a solid hour with no distractions, I was totally engrossed. I wish I could describe it better than this, but fundamentally, it's the story of the devil and his cohorts wreaking havoc in Moscow during the Stalin era. It's satirical, comical, witty and quite philosophical. The "secondary" plot line of Pontius Pilate's personal struggle with the judgment and punishment of Yeshua, incorporated as a novel written by the Master of the title, is a marvelous parallel story. Magical realism at its best.

"… someone was living in the flat, despite the fact that every official body in Moscow concerned with visiting foreigners stated firmly and categorically that there was not and could not be a magician named Woland in Moscow." (pg. 376)

Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita is a book that can be both admired and enjoyed but, peculiarly, rarely at the same time. First, to be enjoyed: a breathless fantasia that sees all hell break loose with a wealth of inventive and original capers, and a command of language and technique that means the novel reads quicker and easier than the reputation of Russian literature would lead you to believe.

And, secondly, to be admired; though you have to make an effort to put yourself into the headspace show more of a Soviet citizen to truly appreciate it. For the book is a satire of Soviet norms, particularly those imposed by the Communist state. The Devil arrives in Soviet Moscow, which is a Communist and, consequently, atheist society (see the quote with which I opened this review), and the book derives a lot of humour from the contortions its characters make to square this theological/ideological circle – or, rather, this dodecahedron. All these strange supernatural happenings in the city, and everyone who is dragged into it is left floundering – often without pants – when the police come around to sort it out.

It is admirably dangerous from Bulgakov, who wrote the book – though could not publish – at a time when Joseph Stalin was in power and mass purges of ideological undesirables were underway. When the character Ivan Nikolayich loses his MASSOLIT membership card on page 66 – MASSOLIT being a state-approved club of literary gatekeepers – it seems to be Bulgakov saying 'now the gloves are off'. Moscow is torn apart by the diabolical 'visiting foreigners' in Woland's entourage (see, again, my opening quotation), and we must remember that Marxism is a foreign ideology, even to Russians: surely it is no coincidence that some of Bulgakov's characters speculate that Woland and his demons came from Germany. And, most pointedly, there are the dreaded knocks on the door by state policemen. The following, from page 92, could almost be reproduced verbatim in Darkness at Noon or The Gulag Archipelago, and not look out of place: "… odd things began happening in that apartment – people started to vanish from it without trace. One Monday afternoon a policeman called, invited the second lodger (the one whose name is no longer known) into the hall and asked him to come along to the police station for a minute or two to sign a document… he not only failed to come back in ten minutes; he never came back at all." Odd things, indeed! Bulgakov skewers not only the ideological contortions, but the corrupting selective-vision ordinary people must deploy to live in such a society.

All this is commendable, but what is truly fascinating about The Master and Margarita is Bulgakov's unusual relationship with the forces of diabolism. The book gives the Devil his due (the opening chapters inspired Mick Jagger to write 'Sympathy for the Devil') and Woland is far from the traditional serpentine characterisation of the Christian devil. He is, interestingly, more like Stalin – the all-powerful lord surrounded by minions to do his bidding ("remove the document – and you remove the man" (pg. 329)). The two titular characters of the Master and Margarita are then, presumably, based on Bulgakov and his wife, who want to escape from under the yoke of Stalin/Woland but can only do so by acknowledging the legitimacy of his power, even over Bulgakov's/the Master's art. "Manuscripts don't burn," Woland says of the Master's labour of love (pg. 326), but it is he and he alone who can decree this. Stalin could never allow such a book to be published, of course, but the fact that the dictator did not seem offended – was, indeed, amused – by the implicit association with the Devil says a lot about his ruling style: Woland asks questions, tests his subjects, and is delighted when they contort themselves ridiculously to provide the 'correct' answer. The benevolence – or, at least, contribution – of diabolism… That is a strange relationship dynamic to wrestle with, even if you understand every line of the book.

And the truth is that you won't understand every line of the book. That breathless fantasia I mentioned really is breathless: an unrelenting cavalcade of odd details and random happenings, most of which have little lasting relevance to the rest of the book. There's no plot to speak of, not really, and it can be difficult for the reader to orient themselves and really appraise the novel as they are reading it. There are other things perhaps going on that are lost in the unrestrained explosion of events (are those who won't hand in their currency (pg. 190) illustrative of a meditation on sin? Is the narrative of Pontius Pilate and his chief of secret service (pg. 350) part of a commentary on how, even back then, there were people trying to manipulate events, or the perception of events?), but the reader doesn't feel like they are losing out, because there are other things to draw your attention. You can get lost from moment to moment, as Bulgakov's story pulls you every which way, and then you can start to go mad in trying to figure it out. But then you realise that madness is the intention. Like the Soviet citizen who ignores their neighbours being dragged away by the state police, you must be mistaken. The events of the book never happened. "No, of course it never took place… it was merely your imagination" (pg. 444). show less

‘’-if there is no God, then who, one wonders, rules the life of man and keeps the world in order?’’
‘’Allow me to inquire how man can control his own affairs when he is not only incapable of compiling a plan for some laughable short term, such as, say, a thousand years, but cannot even predict what will happen to him tomorrow?’’

Welcome to Moscow during the Soviet era. You are about to enter the best country in the world, ruled by the best regime in the world that offers a chance for 20 people to live together in a gloriously crammed commune, an opportunity to be viciously hunted and cancelled because of your beliefs and if you so much as dare to say that you believe in God, you are toast, my friends.

Because the good USSR show more people do not want you to believe in God. They want you to bow down and bare your behinds for the benefit of the Motherland. Stalin is your god.

‘’I no longer have a name, I have renounced it, as I have renounced life itself.’’

It is a strange late afternoon in May. The world seems to stand still as two writers are approached by an enticing foreigner who begins to slowly, efficiently and mercilessly deconstruct their atheistic propaganda. As they are clearly shown what is there in front of their eyes, the foreigner predicts catastrophes and deaths and it becomes apparent that he is actually Satan. And Satan starts narrating the dark day of Jesus’ Trial, focusing on the inner conflict of Pontius Pilate and his role in the Divine Economy that changed the world forever.

Oh, but it is a sad era when the Devil has to prove that God exists…And a sorrowful, cursed people…

‘’ ‘Well, by your life’, replied the Procurator. ‘It is high time to swear by it because you should know that it is hanging by a thread.’
‘You do not believe, do you, hegemon, that it is you who have strung it up?’, asked the prisoner. ‘If you do, you are mistaken.’
Pilate shuddered and answered through clenched teeth:
‘I can cut that thread.’
‘You are mistaken there too’, objected the prisoner, beaming and shading himself from the sun with his hand. ‘You must agree that the thread can only be cut by the one who has suspended it.’

In one of the most glorious story-within-a-story moments in Literature, the focus of the Master’s novel falls on Pontius Pilate, the heart of the book, one of the most controversial (and unluckiest…) men in History. In a chapter of extraordinary interactions between him and Jesus Christ, we see the Procurator trying his best to save the prisoner, but all his efforts fail. Ultimately, his cowardice becomes his greatest sin even if he was dealt the wrong card. He cannot escape his role in the Divine Economy, yet his pain is heartbreaking. We see him trapped by a net of secret services, delegations, directives, the USSR in a nutshell. Suffocated, he realises that immortality comes with notoriety and all he is left to do is stare at the moon, looking for a way to reach the One who he sentenced to be crucified.

Bulgakov excels in the Biblical parts of the novel. The silence, the emotions of the characters, the expressions that demonstrate the horrific violence. His trial is moving and unsettling and it is clear that no one can intervene with God’s plan. Full of symbolism, Pilate’s character may easily be any one of us. The Execution chapter avoids the violence but depicts despair in the character of Saint Matthew the Evangelist, the terror and death, the vultures, the heat, the crowds, the last minutes on the Cross. The impact is electric. Even atheists would respond to such horror and, perhaps, this may have been Bulgakov’s intention all along. The Burial is summoned by a single cry from Pilate’s soul:

‘’Even by moonlight, there is no peace for me.’’

Do you want severed heads and people vanishing and the Arts being viciously persecuted? The Motherland has you covered. And who needs witchcraft when you are in the USSR? Bulgakov’s satirical commentary on the regime is simply wonderful as Satan and his minions expose the hypocrisy and utter misery of the people during the dark era of Communism.

‘’Love leaped up out at us like a murderer jumping out of a dark alley.’’

Utter chaos. Hatred towards the people of faith. Persecution. Yet there is hope in the face of Love. Margarita loves beyond measure. She sacrifices her soul to save the man she loves. But it is not a wise choice, is it? Love or no love, you cannot sell your soul. It is a perilous journey, culminating in a Wild Hunt and a Danse Macabre hosted by Old Nick in a part that contains a multitude of parallels and metaphors aiming to expose the Satanic nature of the regime and the vanity of the human race. Is Margarita brave or plain stupid? Perhaps both.

Using motifs such as the moody evenings, the lights of the windows, the acacias and, most importantly, the moon, with specific references to Faust in a land where Hell is empty and all the devils are here, and some of the most surreal moments where satire is mixed with hallucinations, Bulgakov creates a monumental novel, poignant, even sacred. An ode to undying love, forgiveness, and God's glory.

It is not meant to be an easy read. If you are unwilling to read between the lines, uncover the layers, and actually put the brains that God has given to you to work, then walk away.

One of the greatest novels ever conceived in the history of Literature.

‘’Remember to pray for me.’’

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/ show less

This is one of those novels where the story behind the story is just as engaging. Bulgakov completed this novel shortly before his death in 1940, one part of a larger body of work I should investigate further. It would be another sixteen years before means could be found to publish it, but published it was - initially as a magazine serial within the Soviet Union, no less, which is nothing short of astonishing in light of its subject matter.

The devil comes to Moscow with a secret agenda and wreaks havoc. He can foretell your fate, oust you from your property, threaten you on the phone, make you mysteriously disappear without a trace, tempt you with riches, and he is always prone to commit sudden acts of extreme violence. Would you be show more mad to resist him? Would you be viewed as mad if you tried? And the most sobering thought, always present, silently conveyed: what if it was the Soviet communist regime, instead of the devil? One must have courage to face such a trial, with so much to fear and so many excuses readily available not to. So much easier to wash one's hands clean of the whole affair, to collaborate, go on about your business as if nothing has occurred. This cowardice can be forgiven, but only when it has had its fill of regret. show less

This review is dedicated to Mary, the very model of a perfect co-moderator and GR friend.

Unlocking the Meaning of The Master and Margarita


Mikhail Bulgakov

In the decades following the publication of The Master and Margarita, myriad critics have attempted to find a key to unlock the meaning of Bulgakov’s unfinished masterwork. Some viewed the novel as a political roman à clef, laboriously substituting historical figures from Stalinist Moscow for Bulgakov’s characters. Others posited a religious formula to understand the relationships between good and evil in the novel.

After giving myself time to think, I believe that any attempts to reduce the novel to a formula reflect some readers’ desire for neat, safe boxes to contain the show more world. This approach is at odds with the fear-ridden, desperate, and yet transcendent reality of Bulgakov’s experience in writing, revising, destroying, reconstructing, and then revising the novel, up to his death in Moscow on March 10, 1940. The Master and Margarita shows evidence of Bulgakov’s struggles to complete it, especially in part two, which illness prevented him from revising. I believe that the novel’s profound humanity stems from these imperfections, these facets not quite fitting neatly together, these jarring movements from scene to scene. In the end, The Master and Margarita is, by virtue of its own existence, a testament to the necessity of art in times of repression, and to the urgent need for artists to veer from cowardice and hold firmly to their commitment to living a true human life, with fantasy and reality combined, with history and invention feeding into each other, with good and evil providing the shadows and depth that make life meaningful and real.


The Master and Margarita as Fairy Tale

One approach to The Master and Margarita that appeals to me is understanding it, in part, as a fairy tale. In the novel, Bulgakov threads together three different storylines, which intertwine, especially at the novel’s conclusion: the often slapstick depiction of life in Stalinist Moscow, seen in part through the antics of the devil Woland and his demonic helpers; the story of Pilate, with names and details transformed from the familiar Biblical versions; and the story of the Master and Margarita. The action takes place in a compressed time frame, so readers looking for character development will be disappointed. Instead, Bulgakov develops an extended allegory where flight equals freedom, where greed and small-mindedness are punished, and where weary artists are afforded some mercy and peace.

The Master and Margarita provided Bulgakov with a lifeline to the imagination in the midst of the stultifying culture of Stalinist Russia. There are healthy doses of wish fulfillment in the novel, especially in those sections in which Woland’s minions, Azazello, Behemoth, and Koroviev, wreak retribution for the petty-mindedness and greed inherent in this political and social system. There also is a desperate attempt to resist the Stalinist bent towards monotony and flatness, and instead to weave dizzying strands of magic, fantasy, and power into life in Moscow.


Behemoth

These attempts to use a story as wish fulfillment, criticizing a social order by turning it upside down in fiction, and recognizing how to use an audience’s sense of wonder as a fulcrum for change, resonate with the historical and cultural functions of fairy tales as described by scholars including Jack Zipes in The Great Fairy Tale Tradition and Marina Warner in From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and their Tellers. Magic and wonder force the reader to acknowledge other possibilities outside of a reality of political repression, poverty, and war. When fairy tales reveal challenges to misplaced authority, whether in the guise of an evil queen or a greedy government official, they may take on one of two roles: a subversive threat to authority, or a valve to release the pressure of living under severe constraints. Perhaps most important, fairy tales remind their readers that life is miraculous, and that certain freedoms, such as the freedom to imagine and dream, can be nurtured and honored even under the most restrictive regimes.

For Bulgakov, the blend of the fantastical and the everyday in The Master and Margarita serves as his manifesto. Throughout his life, he fought to preserve the full human experience, not the two-dimensional totalitarianism in the Stalinist USSR, where human life was flattened of any sense of wonder, creativity, exuberance. Instead, he advocated for human life with all its shadows and colors, with a foundation in imagination and wonder. The freedom he sought was not simply freedom from communal housing or repressive government policies. Instead, he sought the freedom to imagine, to dream, to infuse his life with wonder, and to share his vision. For this reason, any attempt to read The Master and Margarita as a simple satire of Stalinist totalitarianism is misguided. Instead, Bulgakov sought to fly free along with his characters, and in doing so to tap into the universal human need for imagination, wonder, and freedom of the intellect and spirit.


“For me the inability to write is as good as being buried alive”


Bulgakov and his wife Yelena, c. 1939

Although Bulgakov universalized his quest for artistic freedom in The Master and Margarita, he drew inspiration and a sense of urgency from his experiences. A playwright, he faced censorship as his plays were banned and productions cancelled. He saw his fellow writers imprisoned for following their calling. (In response to one of these cases, Bulgakov destroyed one version of The Master and Margarita, which he later reconstructed.)

In desperation, between 1929 and 1930 Bulgakov wrote three letters to Soviet government officials, including Stalin, to protest his censorship and beg for a chance to practice his art, if not within Russia, outside it. In the final letter, dated March 28, 1930, Bulgakov movingly describes his ordeal, arguing that his duty as a writer is to defend artistic freedom, and pleading that being silenced is tantamount to death.

Although the letters provided Bulgakov with employment after receiving a favorable response, and saved him from arrest or execution, he still faced his works’ being banned and suppressed. He devoted the last years of his life to revising The Master and Margarita, knowing he would not live to see it published, and sometimes despairing it would ever be read outside of his family circle. His widow, Yelena Shilovskaya, worked tirelessly after his death for decades, preserving his manuscript and finally seeing it published, in a censored version, in 1966 and 1967.


Planes of Reality: The Fantastic, The Historical, and the Totalitarian


Azazello, Behemoth, and Koroviev

Some criticism of The Master and Margarita comes from the abrupt transitions and changes in mood among the three storylines: the actions of Woland and his minions in Moscow; the transformed story of Pontius Pilate, with some striking changes to the names of characters and the sequence of events which simultaneously make the narrative seem more historical and keep readers off-balance; and the story of the Master and Margarita, which includes Bulgakov’s central concerns about cowardice, artistry, duty, loyalty and love. I believe that Bulgakov purposefully constructed his novel so that the reader would be pulled from dimension to dimension. The effect, although jarring, is one of constant instability and surprise. The reader is immersed in a world where a Biblical past seems more historically based and less fantastic than 20th-century Moscow, where characters who are petty and greedy are meted out fantastic public punishments, at times literally on a stage, and where in the end characters with the most substance and loyalty have their lives transformed through magic.

By carefully building this multifaceted world, with all the seams showing, Bulgakov forces us as readers to consider the intersections among these worlds. Bulgakov reveals how we cut ourselves off from the wellsprings of magic and wonder, and invites us to join him in mounting a broomstick and riding off into the night sky, free from the constraints of our everyday lives.


The Necessity of Shadows: Woland


Woland

Just as Bulgakov confounds his readers’ expectations of a unified and seamless world, so he also makes us question our assumptions about good and evil. A key character is Woland, the devil at the center of the magical action. From his appearance in the first chapter, Woland presents an arresting and disconcerting figure. Woland immediately inserts himself into a conversation with Berlioz, the editor of a literary magazine and chair of MASSOLIT, a prestigious literary association, and Ivan, a poet also known by his pen name Bezdomny, engaging in a debate with them about the existence of God. Berlioz parrots many of the current arguments against the existence of God, but Woland deftly counters his arguments in a manner that veers between the charming and the sinister.

This debate introduces a theme that runs throughout The Master and Margarita: a cosmos in which good and evil each have their jurisdiction, but work together to ensure that people get the rewards or punishments that they deserve. In a famous passage later in the novel, Woland provides the following cogent description:

“You pronounced your words as if you refuse to acknowledge the existence of either shadows or evil. But would you kindly ponder this question: What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and from living beings. Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light? You're stupid."

Throughout The Master and Margarita, Woland metes out justice to wrongdoers. However, he does not simply punish -- instead, he also rewards Margarita for her devotion, intelligence, loyalty, and bravery. He rescues the Master from his exile in the asylum and ultimately grants him and Margarita a destiny of peace and rest together. In doing so, Woland overturns our expectations. Bulgakov describes a world where good and evil powers work together to provide some justice and balance in our lives, in spite of the thoughtless and cruel ways that humans behave. As Woland tells Margarita at one point, “Everything will be made right, that is what the world is built on.” The true evil in The Master and Margarita does not rise from Hell, but instead comes from the pettiness and greed of flawed, small-minded humans.


The Master and Margarita: Responsibility to Art

The Master makes his appearance relatively late in the novel, in chapter 13, “Enter the Hero.” However, he is not the traditional hero. He is a broken man, living in an asylum, remembering his love for Margarita, while at the same time turning his back on the art that Margarita loved, protected, and honored: his novel about Pontius Pilate.

In a lengthy conversation with Ivan, the Master paints an idyllic portrait of his life with Margarita, who creates a cozy sanctuary full of roses and love, in which the written word is treasured and respected:

“Running her slender fingers and pointed nails through her hair, she endlessly reread what he had written, and then she sewed the very cap he had shown Ivan. Sometimes she would squat down next to the lower shelves or stand up on a chair next to the upper ones and dust the hundreds of books. She predicted fame, urged him on, and started calling him Master. She waited eagerly for the promised final words about the fifth procurator of Judea, recited the parts she especially liked in a loud sing-song voice, and said that the novel was her life.”

However this idyll comes to a crashing end when the Master completes the manuscript and looks for a publisher. He provides harrowing descriptions of his brutal treatment by the literary world in Moscow, as editors, publishers, and fellow writers publicly criticized him for his novel. These descriptions bear the pain of Bulgakov’s personal experience with censorship and rejection, culminating in the Master’s paralyzing fear of everything around him.

Finally, in a scene inspired by events in Bulgakov’s life, the Master attempts to destroy his manuscript. Although Margarita salvages some pages, this scene marks the end of her life with the Master, who turns his back on Margarita and his art. He describes himself as a man without a name or a future, marking time in the asylum. Bulgakov depicts the Master as a broken man, whose loss of spirit and cowardice in the face of adversity led him to lose everything of value in his life.


Margarita

Margarita poses a stark contrast to the Master. When we finally meet her in part two, she is grieving over losing the Master, but she also shows herself to be intelligent, energetic, and fearless in her determination to find him and rebuild their life together. In doing so, Margarita is not taking an easy path. She is married to a successful husband who adores her. The two live in a large apartment with a great deal of privacy, a true luxury in Stalinist Moscow. She is beautiful, but she cannot put behind her deep dissatisfaction with her life, apparently perfect on the surface, but with no depth. She is living a lie. Her despair starts to break when she has a dream about the Master, which she views as a portent that her torment will soon come to an end. After rushing from her home, she has a fateful conversation with Azazello, whom Woland has tasked with inviting her to officiate as his queen at his ball. Margarita handles the interaction with spirit and courage, agreeing to follow Azazello’s mysterious instructions in hopes of learning the Master’s fate.


Margarita’s Night Ride

Margarita is transformed and embarks on a night ride, flying naked on a broomstick over Moscow. After wreaking havoc at the apartment of a publisher who had tormented the Master, and comforting a small boy who awakened, terrified by the destruction, she participates in a moonlight gathering of other magical creatures. Afterwards, she returns to Moscow in a magical car, “After all that evening's marvels and enchantments, she had already guessed who they were taking her to visit, but that didn't frighten her. The hope that there she would succeed in regaining her happiness made her fearless.” The night ride is a symbol of Margarita’s freedom and power.

Her fearlessness propels Margarita through her meeting with Woland and his minions, and a surreal evening as the queen of Woland’s midnight ball. Her devotion is rewarded by Woland, in scenes full of magic and moonlight. Although the Master crumbles in the face of adversity, Margarita becomes the ultimate hero and savior through her courage and commitment to the Master and his art.


The Moon



Throughout The Master and Margarita, Bulgakov uses key symbols to tie together the different chapters and storylines. Perhaps the most important symbol is the moon, which appears frequently in practically every chapter. The moon conveys a kind of otherworldly truth. Characters are bathed in moonlight at critical points in the novel, especially when making entrances, as when the Master first appears in Ivan’s hospital room. Moonlight imparts insight and truth even to the most delusional of characters. The moon lights the night rides of Woland, his companions, Margarita and the Master.


Woland and company: Night Ride

The moonlight also features prominently in the Pilate chapters, serving as a lynchpin between them and the rest of the novel. Pilate looks up at the moon for solace in the face of his agony from his migraines and his cowardice, with his faithful dog Banga as his sole companion. Bulgakov uses the moon to illuminate Pilate’s torment and his final peace, granted to him by the Master, his creator:

"[Pilate] has been sitting here for about two thousand years, sleeping, but, when the moon is full, he is tormented, as you see, by insomnia. And it torments not only him, but his faithful guardian, the dog. If it is true that cowardice is the most grave vice, then the dog, at least, is not guilty of it. The only thing that brave creature ever feared was thunderstorms. But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one he loves."

In response to Woland’s prompting, the Master stands and shouts the words that complete his novel, and end Pilate’s torture:

“The path of moonlight long awaited by the procurator led right up to the garden, and the dog with the pointed ears was the first to rush out on it. The man in the white cloak with the blood-red lining got up from his chair and shouted something in a hoarse, broken voice. It was impossible to make out whether he was laughing or crying, or what he was shouting, but he could be seen running down the path of moonlight, after his faithful guardian.”


Pilate, Banga and the moon

Bulgakov follows this transformative scene with Woland’s gift of peace to the Master. As she did throughout the novel, Margarita remains by the Master’s side, his loyal companion through eternity. Bulgakov cannot give salvation to the Master, perhaps because of the enormity of his cowardice against art, perhaps because he has been so damaged by a hostile society. In these final passages, Margarita gives the Master, and the reader, a soothing picture of a peaceful life, perhaps one Bulgakov himself longed for:

"Listen to the silence," Margarita was saying to the Master, the sand crunching under her bare feet. "Listen and take pleasure in what you were not given in life—quiet. Look, there up ahead is your eternal home, which you've been given as a reward. I can see the Venetian window and the grape-vine curling up to the roof. There is your home, your eternal home. I know that in the evenings people you like will come to see you, people who interest you and who will not upset you. They will play for you, sing for you, and you will see how the room looks in candlelight. You will fall asleep with your grimy eternal cap on your head, you will fall asleep with a smile on your lips. Sleep will strengthen you, you will begin to reason wisely. And you will never be able to chase me away. I will guard your sleep." show less