Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world? Let the liar cut out his vile tongue!

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

Not! The master was mistaken when he bitterly told Ivanushka in the hospital at the hour when the night passed midnight that she had forgotten him. It couldn't be. She certainly didn't 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 absolutely true. 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 they wanted to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. The thirty-year-old childless Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who, moreover, made the 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 the garden in one of the lanes near the Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can be convinced of this if he wishes to go to this garden. Let him turn to me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact to this day.

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 the stove. Margarita Nikolaevna did not know the horrors of living in a joint apartment. In a word... Was she happy? Not one minute! Ever since she got married at the age of nineteen and entered the mansion, she had not known happiness. Gods, my gods! What did this woman need? What did this woman, in whose eyes some incomprehensible light always burned, what did this witch, slightly squinting in one eye, need, who then adorned 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 at all a Gothic mansion, and not a separate garden, and not money. She loved him, she spoke the truth. Even I, a truthful narrator, but an outsider, shrinks 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 is no more.

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, same error! - said Margarita in the winter, sitting by the stove and looking into the fire, - why did I leave him at night? What for? After all, this is madness! I returned the next day, honestly, as promised, but it was too late. Yes, I returned, like the unfortunate Levi Matvey, 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 the absurd turmoil caused by the appearance of a black magician in Moscow took place, on Friday, when Uncle Berlioz 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 overlooking the lantern in the tower of the mansion.

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

I believe! - whispered Margarita solemnly, - I believe! Something will happen! It cannot but happen, because for what, in fact, was lifelong torment sent to me? I confess that I lied and deceived and lived a secret life, hidden from people, but still you can’t punish so cruelly for this. Something is bound to happen, because it does not happen that something lasts forever. And besides, my dream was prophetic, for that I vouch.

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

The dream that Margarita had that night was really unusual. The fact is that during her winter torment, she never dreamed of a master. At night he left her, and she suffered only during the daytime hours. And then dreamed.

She dreamed of an area unknown to Margarita - hopeless, dull, under the cloudy sky of early spring. I dreamed of this ragged gray running sky, and under it a silent flock of rooks. Kind of a crooked bridge. Beneath it is a muddy spring river, joyless, beggarly, half-naked trees, a lone aspen, and further, between the trees, a log building, or it is a separate kitchen, or a bathhouse, or the devil knows what. Inanimate everything around is somehow and so dull that it pulls you to hang yourself on this aspen near the bridge. Not a breath of breeze, not a stirring of a cloud, and not a living soul. This is a hell of a place for a living person!

And now, imagine, the door of this log building swings open, and he appears. It's quite far away, but it's clearly visible. He is torn off, you can’t make out what he is wearing. Hair is disheveled, unshaven. Eyes sick, worried. He beckons her with his hand, calls. Choking in the inanimate air, Margarita ran over the bumps to him and at that moment woke up.

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

Being still in the same excited state, Margarita dressed and began to inspire herself that, in essence, everything was going very well, and one must be able to catch and use such good moments. The husband went on a business trip for three whole days. For three days she is left to herself, 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 whole apartment, which tens of thousands of people in Moscow would envy, 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 junk were kept in two large wardrobes. She squatted down, opened the bottom drawer of the first one, and from under a pile of silk scraps pulled out the only valuable thing she had in her life. In Margarita’s hands was an old brown leather album, which contained a photographic card 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 in a whole sheet, covered with a typewriter and with a burnt bottom edge.

Returning with this wealth to her bedroom, Margarita Nikolaevna installed a photograph on a three-winged mirror and sat for about an hour, holding a notebook spoiled by fire on her knees, leafing through it and rereading what, after burning, had neither beginning nor end: "... The darkness that came from the Mediterranean Sea covered the city hated by the procurator, the suspension bridges connecting the temple with the terrible Anthony Tower disappeared, the abyss descended 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 in the world ... "

Wiping away her tears, Margarita Nikolaevna left her notebook, rested her elbows on the table under the mirror, and, reflected in the mirror, sat for a long time, not taking her eyes off the photograph. Then the tears dried up. Margarita neatly folded her possessions, and a few minutes later they were again buried under silk rags, and the lock closed with a clang 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, and, having received the answer that it was indifferent to amuse herself, entered into a conversation with her mistress and began to tell God knows what, like that yesterday there was a magician in the theater he showed such tricks that everyone gasped, handed out to everyone two bottles of foreign perfumes and stockings for free, and then, as the session ended, the audience went out into the street, and - grab - everyone turned out to be naked! Margarita Nikolaevna collapsed into a chair under a mirror in the hallway and burst out laughing.

Natasha! Well, shame on you, - said Margarita Nikolaevna, - you are a competent, smart girl; in the queues they lie, the devil knows what, and you repeat!

Natasha blushed and with great fervor objected that they weren’t lying and that today she personally saw one citizen in the grocery store on the Arbat, who came to the grocery store in shoes, and as she began to pay at the cash register, her shoes disappeared from her feet and she remained in stockings. Eyes popped out! Hole on the heel. And these magic shoes, from that very session.

So did you go?

And so it went! - Natasha screamed, blushing more and more because they did not believe her, - yes, yesterday, Margarita Nikolaevna, the police took a hundred people at night. Citizens from this session in the same pantaloons ran along Tverskaya.

Well, of course, it was Daria who told me, - said Margarita Nikolaevna, - I had noticed for a long time that she was a terrible liar.

The funny conversation ended with a pleasant surprise for Natasha. Margarita Nikolaevna went into 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 the trick, Margarita Nikolaevna gave her stockings and a bottle and said that she asked her only one thing - not to run around Tverskaya in stockings and not listen to Daria. After kissing, the hostess and the housekeeper parted.

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

And those, occasionally turning around with apprehension, whether someone hears, whispered about some kind of nonsense. Hefty, fleshy, with lively pig eyes, sitting at the window, quietly told his little neighbor that he had to close the coffin with a black veil ...

Yes, it can’t be, - the little one whispered, amazed, - this is something unheard of ... But what did Zheldybin undertake?

Among the even hum of the trolley bus, the words from the window were heard:

Criminal investigation... scandal... well, just mysticism!

From these fragmentary pieces, Margarita Nikolaevna somehow put together something coherent. Citizens whispered that some dead man, but which one they did not name, had their head stolen from the coffin this morning! It is because of this that this Zheldybin is so worried now. All these whispers in the trolleybus also have something to do with the robbed dead man.

Can we go 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 leave.

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

Margarita squinted at the bright sun, recalled her today's dream, recalled how exactly one year, day after day and hour after hour, on the same bench she sat next to him. And just as then, the black handbag lay next to her on the bench. He was not around that day, but Margarita Nikolaevna still spoke mentally to him: “If you are exiled, then why don’t you let me know about yourself? After all, people let me know. "I believe. So you were exiled and died... Then, I beg you, let me go, give me finally the freedom to live, 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 had sat. Gathering his courage, he spoke:

Definitely nice 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? owl, alone under the wall? Why am I turned off from life?

She became quite sad and despondent. But then suddenly that same morning wave of expectation and excitement pushed her in the 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, the approaching beats of the drum and the sounds of slightly out of tune trumpets were heard more and more distinctly.

The first step seemed to be a mounted policeman following past the garden grate, followed by three on foot. Then a slowly moving truck full of musicians. Next - a slowly moving funeral brand new open car, on it the coffin is all in wreaths, and in the corners of the platform - four standing people: three men, one woman. Even at a distance, Margarita saw that the faces of the people standing in the funeral car, accompanying the deceased on their last journey, were somehow strangely bewildered. This was especially noticeable in relation to the citizen, who was standing in the left rear corner of the motorway. The thick cheeks of this citizen seemed to burst from the inside even more with some kind of piquant secret, ambiguous lights played in the swollen eyes. It seemed that just about 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 a mystic!" Equally bewildered were the mourners on foot, who, in the number of about three hundred people, slowly walked behind the funeral car.

Margarita followed the procession with her eyes, listening to how the dull Turkish drum was dying away in the distance, making the same “Booms, booms, booms”, and thought: “What a strange funeral ... And what anguish from this “booms”! Ah, really, I would lay my soul to the devil just to find out whether he is alive or not! It is interesting to know who is buried with such amazing faces?

Berlioz Mikhail Alexandrovich, - a somewhat nasal male voice was heard nearby, - the chairman of MASSOLIT.

Surprised, Margarita Nikolaevna turned and saw a citizen sitting on her bench, who evidently sat down noiselessly at the time when Margarita stared at the procession and, presumably, absent-mindedly asked her last question aloud.

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

Yes, - continued the unknown citizen, - they have an amazing mood. They take the dead man, and they only think about where his head has gone!

What head? Margarita asked, peering at her unexpected neighbor. This neighbor turned out to be short, flaming red, with a fangs, in starched linen, in a good striped suit, in patent leather shoes and with a bowler hat on his head. The tie was bright. It was surprising that from the pocket where men usually wear a handkerchief or a self-writing pen, this citizen had a gnawed chicken bone sticking out.

Yes, if you please, - explained the redhead, - this morning in the Griboedovsky Hall, the head of the deceased was pulled from the coffin.

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

God knows how! - the redhead answered cheekily, - I, however, believe that it would not be bad to ask Behemoth about this. Terrifyingly cleverly stolen. Such a scandal! And, most importantly, it is not clear to whom and for what it is needed, this head!

No matter how busy Margarita Nikolaevna was, she was nevertheless struck by the strange lies of an unknown citizen.

Allow me! she suddenly exclaimed, “what kind of Berlioz? This is what's in the papers today...

How, how...

So this, therefore, the writers are following the coffin? asked Margarita and suddenly grinned.

Well, of course they are!

Do you know them by sight?

All of them,” the redhead replied.

How can it not be? - answered the redhead, - there he is on the edge in the fourth row.

Is that blond? asked Margarita, screwing up her eyes.

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

Does it look like a father?

Margarita asked nothing more, peering at Latunsky.

And you, as I see it, - the red-haired man spoke with a smile, - hate this Latunsky.

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

Yes, of course, what's interesting about that, Margarita Nikolaevna!

Margarita was surprised:

You know me?

Instead of answering, the redhead took off his bowler hat and took it away.

"Absolutely robber face!" thought Margarita, peering at her street interlocutor.

I don't know you," said Margarita dryly.

How do you know me! In the meantime, I have been sent to you on business.

Margarita turned pale and recoiled.

It was necessary to start with this directly, - she spoke, - and not to grind the devil knows what about the severed head! Do you want to arrest me?

Nothing like that, - exclaimed the red-haired man, - what is it: once you start talking, then you will definitely arrest! It's just business for you.

I don't understand, what's the matter?

The redhead looked around and said mysteriously:

I've been sent to invite you over tonight.

What are you talking about, what guests?

To one very noble foreigner, - the red-haired man said significantly, screwing up his eyes.

Margaret was very angry.

A new breed has appeared: the street pimp,” she said, rising to leave.

Thank you for these orders! - offended, the redhead exclaimed and grumbled in the back of the departing Margarita: - Fool!

Scoundrel! - she answered, turning around, and immediately heard the voice of the redhead behind her:

The darkness that came from the Mediterranean 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 will perish with your burnt notebook and dried rose! Sit here on the bench alone and beg him to let you go free, to let you breathe the air, to leave your memory!

White-faced, 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 ... to penetrate, to peep ... Is Natasha bribed? Yes? But how could you know my thoughts? - she grimaced in pain and added: - Tell me, who are you? What institution are you from?

That's boredom, - the redhead grumbled and spoke louder: - Forgive me, because I told you that I am not from any institution! Sit down please.

Margarita implicitly obeyed, but all the same, sitting down, she asked again:

Who are you?

Well, my name is Azazello, but it doesn't tell you anything anyway.

Will you tell me how you learned about the sheets and about my thoughts?

I won’t tell,” Azazello replied dryly.

But do you know anything about him? whispered Margarita imploringly.

Well, let's say I know.

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

Well, he’s alive, he’s alive, ”Azazello replied reluctantly.

Please, without worries and screams, - said Azazello, frowning.

Excuse me, forgive me,” Margarita, now submissive, muttered, “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 spoil his life. I saw nothing but goodness from him...

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

Please be quiet for a minute.

Margarita obediently fell silent.

I invite you to a completely safe foreigner. And not a soul will know about this visit. That's what I vouch for you.

Why did he need me? asked Margarita ingratiatingly.

You will learn about this later.

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

To this, Azazello somehow haughtily chuckled and answered as follows:

Any woman in the world, I can assure you, would dream about it, - 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 dismay, so loudly that the benches passing by turned to look at her, “and what is my interest in going to him?

Azazello leaned towards her and whispered meaningfully:

Well, the interest is very big ... You will take the opportunity ...

What? - exclaimed Margarita, 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 going! - Margarita exclaimed with force and grabbed Azazello's hand, - I'm going anywhere!

Azazello, puffing with relief, leaned back on the back of the bench, covering the heavily carved word "Nyura" with his back, and spoke ironically:

Difficult people these women! - he put his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs far forward - why, for example, was I sent on this case? Let Behemoth go, he is charming ...

Margarita spoke, smiling crookedly and pathetically:

Stop mystifying me and tormenting me with your riddles... I'm an unfortunate person, and you take advantage of that. I'm getting into some strange story, but, I swear, only because you beckoned me with words about him! My head is spinning from all these incomprehensibility ...

No dramas, no dramas, - Azazello replied grimacing, - you also need to enter into my position. Punching an administrator in the face, or putting 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 a humble servant. After all, I've been trying to convince you for half an hour. So are you going?

I'm going, - Margarita Nikolaevna answered simply.

Then take the trouble to get it, - said Azazello and, taking out a round golden box from his pocket, handed it to Margarita with the words: - Yes, hide it, otherwise passers-by are watching. You will need it, Margarita Nikolaevna. You've aged quite a bit with grief in the past six months. (Margarita flushed, but did not answer, and Azazello continued.) Tonight, at exactly half past nine, take the trouble, stripping naked, rub this ointment on your face and whole body. Then do what you want, but do not leave the 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 be, and you will not be disturbed in any way. Clear?

Margarita paused, then answered:

It's clear. This thing is made of pure gold, you can see by the weight. Well, I understand perfectly well that I am being bribed and pulled into some kind of dark story, for which I will pay a lot.

What is it, - 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 do everything because of him, because I have no more hope for anything in the world. But I want to tell you that if you destroy me, you will be ashamed! Yes, shame! I'm dying for love! - and, thumping her chest, Margarita looked 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, startling the passers-by, - I agree to everything, I agree to do this comedy with rubbing with ointment, I agree to go to hell on Easter cakes. Will not give it back!

Ba! - Azazello suddenly yelled and, bulging his eyes at the garden lattice, began to point his finger somewhere.

Margarita turned to where Azazello pointed, but found nothing special. Then she turned to Azazello, wishing to get an explanation for this absurd "bah!" But there was no one to give this explanation: Margarita Nikolaevna's mysterious interlocutor had disappeared. Margarita quickly put her hand into her purse, where she had hidden the box before this cry, and made sure that it was there. Then, without thinking about anything, Margarita hurriedly ran out of the Alexander Garden.

Part two

Chapter 19

Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world? Let the liar cut out his vile tongue!

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

The Master and Margarita. Movie. 6th series

Not! The master was mistaken when he bitterly told Ivanushka in the hospital at that hour, when the night was passing through midnight, that she had forgotten him. It couldn't be. She certainly didn't 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 that the master said about her to the poor poet 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 they want to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. The childless thirty-year-old Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who, moreover, made the 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 the garden in one of the lanes near the Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can be convinced of this if he wishes to go to this garden. Let him turn to 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 the stove. Margarita Nikolaevna did not know the horrors of living in a joint apartment. In a word…was she happy? Not one minute! Ever since she got married at the age of nineteen and entered the mansion, she had not known happiness. Gods, my gods! What did this woman need? What did this woman, in whose eyes some incomprehensible light always burned, what did this witch, slightly squinting in one eye, need, who then adorned 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 at all a Gothic mansion, and not a separate garden, and not money. She loved him, she spoke the truth. Even I, a truthful narrator, but an outsider, shrinks 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 is no more.

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! - said Margarita in the winter, sitting by the stove and looking into the fire, - why did I leave him at night? What for? After all, this is madness! I returned the next day, honestly, as promised, but it was too late. Yes, I returned, like the unfortunate Levi Matvey, 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 the absurd turmoil caused by the appearance of a black magician in Moscow took place, on Friday, when Uncle Berlioz 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 overlooking the lantern in the tower of the mansion.

Waking up, Margarita did not cry, as she often did, because she woke up with a premonition that something would finally happen today. Feeling this presentiment, 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 cannot but happen, because for what, in fact, was lifelong torment sent to me? I confess that I lied and deceived and lived a secret life, hidden from people, but still you can’t punish so cruelly for this. Something is bound to happen, because it does not happen that something lasts forever. And besides, my dream was prophetic, I vouch for that.

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

The dream that Margarita had that night was really unusual. The fact is that during her winter torment, she never dreamed of a master. At night he left her, and she suffered only during the daytime hours. And then dreamed.

She dreamed of an area unknown to Margarita - hopeless, dull, under the cloudy sky of early spring. I dreamed of this ragged gray running sky, and under it a silent flock of rooks. Kind of a crooked bridge. Below him is a muddy spring river, joyless, beggarly half-naked trees, a lone aspen, and further, between the trees, behind some kind of vegetable garden, a log building, or it is a separate kitchen, or a bathhouse, or the devil knows what. Inanimate everything around is somehow and so dull that it pulls you to hang yourself on this aspen near the bridge. Not a breath of breeze, not a stirring of a cloud, and not a living soul. This is a hell of a place for a living person!

And now, imagine, the door of this log building swings open, and he appears. It's quite far away, but it's clearly visible. He is torn off, you can’t make out what he is wearing. Hair is disheveled, unshaven. Eyes sick, worried. He beckons her with his hand, calls. Choking in the inanimate air, Margarita ran over the bumps to him and at that moment woke up.

“This dream can only mean one of two things,” Margarita Nikolaevna reasoned to herself, “if he is dead and beckoned me, it means that he came for me, and I will die soon. 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 himself! He wants to say that we will see each other again. Yes, we'll see you very soon."

Being still in the same excited state, Margarita dressed and began to inspire herself that, in essence, everything was going very well, and one must be able to catch and use such good moments. The husband went on a business trip for three whole days. For three days she is left to herself, 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 whole apartment, which tens of thousands of people in Moscow would envy, 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 junk were kept in two large wardrobes. She squatted down, opened the bottom drawer of the first of them, 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 photographic card of the master, a savings bank book with a deposit of ten thousand in his name, petals of a dried rose spread between sheets of tissue paper and part of a notebook in a whole sheet, covered with a typewriter and with a burnt bottom edge.

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

Wiping away her tears, Margarita Nikolaevna left her notebook, rested her elbows on the table under the mirror, and, reflected in the mirror, sat for a long time, not taking her eyes off the photograph. Then the tears dried up. Margarita neatly folded her possessions, and a few minutes later they were again buried under silk rags, and the lock closed with a clang 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, and, having received the answer that it was indifferent to amuse herself, entered into a conversation with her mistress and began to tell God knows what, like that yesterday there was a magician in the theater he showed such tricks that everyone gasped, handed out to everyone two bottles of foreign perfumes and stockings for free, and then, as the session ended, the audience went out into the street, and - grab - everyone turned out to be naked! Margarita Nikolaevna collapsed into a chair under a mirror in the hallway and burst out laughing.

- Natasha! Well, shame on you, - said Margarita Nikolaevna, - you are a competent, smart girl; in the queues they lie, the devil knows what, and you repeat!

Natasha blushed and with great fervor objected that they weren’t lying and that today she personally saw one citizen in the grocery store on the Arbat, who came to the grocery store in shoes, and as she began to pay at the cash register, her shoes disappeared from her feet and she remained in stockings. Eyes popped out! Hole on the heel. And these magic shoes, from that very session.

- So did you go?

- And so it went! Natasha screamed, blushing more and more because they did not believe her, “Yes, yesterday, Margarita Nikolaevna, the police took a hundred people at night. Citizens from this session in the same pantaloons ran along Tverskaya.

“Well, of course, it was Darya who told me,” Margarita Nikolaevna said, “I noticed for a long time that she was a terrible liar.

The funny conversation ended with a pleasant surprise for Natasha. Margarita Nikolaevna went into 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 the trick, Margarita Nikolaevna gave her stockings and a bottle and said that she asked her only one thing - not to run around Tverskaya in stockings and not listen to Daria. After kissing, the hostess and the housekeeper parted.

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

And those, occasionally turning around with apprehension, whether someone hears, whispered about some kind of nonsense. Hefty, fleshy, with lively pig eyes, sitting at the window, quietly told his little neighbor that he had to close the coffin with a black veil ...

“Yes, it can’t be,” the little one whispered, amazed, “this is something unheard of ... But what did Zheldybin undertake?

Among the even hum of the trolley bus, the words from the window were heard:

- Criminal investigation ... scandal ... well, just a mystic!

From these fragmentary pieces, Margarita Nikolaevna somehow put together something coherent. Citizens whispered that some dead man, but which one they did not name, had had his head stolen from the coffin this morning! It is because of this that this Zheldybin is so worried now. All these whispers 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 leave.

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

Margarita squinted into the bright sun, recalled her dream today, recalled how exactly one year, day after day and hour after hour, on the same bench she sat next to him. And just as then, the black handbag lay next to her on the bench. He was not around that day, but Margarita Nikolaevna still spoke mentally to him: “If you are exiled, then why don’t you let me know about yourself? After all, let people know. You do not love me anymore? No, for some reason I don't believe it. So, you were exiled and died… Then, I beg you, let me go, give me finally the freedom to live, breathe the air.” Margarita Nikolaevna herself 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 had sat. Gathering his courage, he spoke:

“The weather is definitely nice today…

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

“Here is 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 for the stupid word "definitely"? Why am I sitting like an owl under the wall alone? Why am I excluded from life?

She became quite sad and despondent. But then suddenly that same morning wave of expectation and excitement pushed her in the 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, the approaching drum beats and the sounds of slightly out of tune trumpets were heard more and more distinctly.

The first step seemed to be a mounted policeman riding past the garden grate, followed by three on foot. Then a slowly moving truck full of musicians. Next - a slowly moving funeral brand new open car, on it is a coffin all in wreaths, and in the corners of the platform - four standing people: three men, one woman. Even at a distance, Margarita saw that the faces of the people standing in the funeral car, accompanying the deceased on their last journey, were somehow strangely bewildered. This was especially noticeable in relation to the citizen, who was standing in the left rear corner of the motorway. The thick cheeks of this citizen, as if from the inside, were bursting even more with some kind of piquant secret, ambiguous lights played in the swollen eyes. It seemed that just about a little more, and the citizen, unable to bear it, would wink at the dead man and say: “Have you seen anything like that? Directly mystic! Equally bewildered were the mourners on foot, who, in the number of about three hundred people, slowly walked behind the funeral car.

Margarita followed the procession with her eyes, listening to how the dull Turkish drum was dying away in the distance, making the same “boom, boom, boom”, and thought: “What a strange funeral ... And what anguish from this “boom”! Oh, really, I would pawn my soul to the devil just to find out if he is alive or not! It is interesting to know who is buried with such amazing faces?

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

Surprised, Margarita Nikolaevna turned and saw a citizen sitting on her bench, who evidently sat down noiselessly at the time when Margarita stared at the procession and, presumably, absent-mindedly asked her last question aloud.

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

“Yes,” the unknown citizen continued, “their mood is amazing. They take the dead man, and they only think about where his head has gone!

- What head? Margarita asked, peering at her unexpected neighbor. This neighbor turned out to be short, flaming red, with a fangs, in starched linen, in a good striped suit, in patent leather shoes and with a bowler hat on his head. The tie was bright. It was surprising that from the pocket where men usually wear a handkerchief or a self-writing pen, this citizen had a gnawed chicken bone sticking out.

- Yes, if you please, - the red-haired man explained, - this morning in the Griboedov hall, the head of the deceased was pulled from the coffin.

– How can this be? Margarita involuntarily asked, at the same time remembering the whisper in the trolley bus.

- The devil knows how! - the redhead answered cheekily, - I, however, believe that it would not be bad to ask Behemoth about this. Terrifyingly cleverly stolen. Such a scandal! And, most importantly, it is not clear to whom and for what it is needed, this head!

No matter how busy Margarita Nikolaevna was, she was nevertheless struck by the strange lies of an unknown citizen.

- Allow me! she suddenly exclaimed, “what kind of Berlioz? This is what's in the papers today...

- How, how...

- So this, therefore, the writers are following the coffin? Margarita asked, and suddenly grinned.

Well, of course they are!

– Do you know them by sight?

“Every single one,” the redhead replied.

– How can it not exist? - answered the redhead, - there he is on the edge in the fourth row.

Is that a blond one? asked Margarita, squinting.

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

Does he look like a father?

Margarita asked nothing more, peering at Latunsky.

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

“I hate someone else,” 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:

- You know me?

Instead of answering, the redhead took off his bowler hat and took it away.

"Absolutely a robber's mug!" thought Margarita, peering at her street interlocutor.

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

- How do you know me! In the meantime, I've been sent to you on a business trip.

Margarita turned pale and recoiled.

“That’s exactly what we should have started with,” she said, “and not to grind the devil knows what about the severed head!” Do you want to arrest me?

“Nothing like that,” exclaimed the red-haired one, “what is it: since you’ve started talking, you’re sure to arrest!” It's just business for you.

"I don't understand, what's the matter?"

The redhead looked around and said mysteriously:

“I was sent to invite you over tonight.

- What are you talking about, what guests?

“To a certain very distinguished foreigner,” the red-haired man said significantly, screwing up his eyes. Margaret was very angry.

“A new breed has appeared: the street pimp,” she said, rising to leave.

- Thank you for these orders! - offended, the redhead exclaimed and grumbled at the back of the departing Margarita. - Stupid!

- Bastard! - she answered, turning around, and immediately heard the voice of the redhead behind her:

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

White-faced, 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 ... penetrate, peep ... Natasha was bribed? Yes? But how could you know my thoughts? She grimaced in pain and added. "Tell me, who are you?" What institution are you from?

“That’s boring,” grumbled the redhead and spoke louder, “forgive me, because I told you that I’m not from any institution!” Sit down please.

Margarita implicitly obeyed, but all the same, sitting down, she asked again:

- Who are you?

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

“But won’t you tell me how you learned about the sheets and about my thoughts?”

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

"But do you know anything about him?" Margarita whispered imploringly.

- Well, let's say I know.

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

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

“Please, no worries or screams,” said Azazello, frowning.

“Excuse me, forgive me,” Margarita muttered, now submissive, “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 spoil his life. I saw nothing but goodness from him...

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

“I would like you to be quiet for a moment.

Margarita obediently fell silent.

“I invite you to a completely safe foreigner. And not a soul will know about this visit. That's what I vouch for you.

Why did he need me? Margarita asked ingratiatingly.

- You will learn about this later.

“I understand… I must surrender to him,” Margarita said thoughtfully.

To this, Azazello somehow haughtily chuckled and answered as follows:

- Any woman in the world, I can assure you, would dream about it, - 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 dismay, so loudly that the benches passing by turned to look at her, “and what is my interest in going to him?

Azazello leaned towards her and whispered meaningfully:

- Well, the interest is very big ... You will 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 going! - Margarita exclaimed with force and grabbed Azazello by the hand, - I'm going anywhere!

Azazello, puffing with relief, leaned back on the back of the bench, covering the word "Nyura" large carved on it 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 case? Let Behemoth ride, he is charming ...

Margarita spoke, smiling crookedly and pathetically:

- Stop mystifying me and tormenting me with your riddles ... I'm an unfortunate person, and you take advantage of this. I'm getting into some strange story, but, I swear, only because you beckoned me with words about him! My head is spinning from all these incomprehensibility ...

“No drama, no drama,” Azazello replied grimacing, “you also need to enter into my position. Punching an administrator in the face, or putting 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 a humble servant. After all, I've been trying to convince you for half an hour. So are you going?

“I’m going,” Margarita Nikolaevna answered simply.

“Then take the trouble to get it,” said Azazello and, taking a round golden box out of his pocket, handed it to Margarita with the words, “but hide it, otherwise passers-by are watching.” You will need it, Margarita Nikolaevna. You've aged quite a bit with grief in the past six months. (Margarita flushed, but did not answer, and Azazello continued.) Tonight, at exactly half past nine, take the trouble, stripping naked, rub your face and whole body with this ointment. Then do what you want, but do not leave the 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 be, and you will not be disturbed in any way. Clear?

Margarita paused, then answered:

- Clear. This thing is made of pure gold, you can see by the weight. Well, I understand perfectly well that I am being bribed and pulled into some kind of dark story, for which I will pay a lot.

- What is it, - 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 do everything because of him, because I have no more hope for anything in the world. But I want to tell you that if you destroy me, you will be ashamed! Yes, shame! I'm dying for love! – and, thumping her chest, Margarita looked 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, startling the passers-by, - I agree to everything, I agree to do this comedy with rubbing with ointment, I agree to go to hell in the middle of nowhere. Will not give it back!

- Ba! Azazello suddenly yelled and, bulging his eyes at the trellis of the garden, began to point his finger somewhere.

Margarita turned to where Azazello pointed, but found nothing special there. Then she turned to Azazello, wanting to get an explanation for this absurd “Bah!”, but there was no one to give this explanation: the mysterious interlocutor of Margarita Nikolaevna had disappeared. Margarita quickly put her hand into her purse, where she had hidden the box before this cry, and made sure that it was there. Then, without thinking about anything, Margarita hurriedly ran out of the Alexander Garden.

• Back
• Forward

More on the topic...

• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 26. Burial - read full online
• Margarita's final monologue "Listen to the silence" (text)
• "Heart of a Dog", Professor Preobrazhensky's monologue about devastation - text
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita" - read chapter by chapter online
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", Epilogue - read full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 32. Forgiveness and eternal shelter - read completely online
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 31. On the Sparrow Hills - read in full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 30. It's time! It's time! – read online in full
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 29. The fate of the master and Margarita is determined - read completely online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 28. The last adventures of Koroviev and Behemoth - read online in full
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 27. The end of apartment No. 50 - read in full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 25. How the procurator tried to save Judas from Kiriath - read full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 24. Extraction of the Master - read online in full
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 23. The Great Ball at Satan's - read full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 22. By candlelight - read online in full
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 21. Flight - read full online
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 20. Cream Azazello - read completely online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 18. Unfortunate visitors - read full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 17. Restless day - read completely online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 16. Execution - read full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 15. Dream of Nikanor Ivanovich - read completely online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 14. Glory to the rooster! – read online in full
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 13. The appearance of the hero - read online in full
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 12. Black magic and its exposure - read online in full
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 11. Bifurcation of Ivan - read completely online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 10. News from Yalta - read completely online
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 9. Koroviev's things - read completely online
• Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita", chapter 8. The duel between the professor and the poet - read in full online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 7. Bad apartment - read completely online
• Bulgakov "Master and Margarita", chapter 6. Schizophrenia, as it was said - read completely online

Mikhail Bulgakov "Master and Margarita". book from home library

The plot is interesting. It certainly is. You find yourself in some special world, where reality is combined with fantasy, mysticism, even "devilry".

The heroes of this work are bright, original: The Master and Margarita, Woland and his retinue, Yeshua and Pontius Pilate, Berlioz and Ivan Bezdomny, Varenukha .... I will not list all.

This book makes you think about the meaning of life, look at humanity from the outside and evaluate. How many of us strive to satisfy material needs. For this, they are even ready to commit crimes. They can cheat, take bribes .... Other townsfolk are happy to somehow profit at someone else's expense (visitors to an impromptu store during a session of black magic). Are they funny? Or worthy of sympathy? It's definitely hard to answer.

"... Well," he replied thoughtfully, "they are people like people. They love money, but it has always been ... Humanity loves money, no matter what it is made of, whether it is 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 former ones ... the housing problem only spoiled them ... "

The episodes that describe it all are strong. Here irony, humor, feelings, and even satire. But this is not the only thing to remember. This book about love and hatred, good and evil...

“She carried disgusting, disturbing yellow flowers in her hands. The devil knows what their names are, but for some reason they are the first to appear in Moscow ... "

“... with yellow flowers in her hands, she went out that day so that I could finally find her, and that if this had not happened, she would have been poisoned, because her life is empty.”

Good and evil... How often these qualities can combine in the actions of a person. They talk a lot about the Master and Margarita, Woland, Pontius Pilate. In one of the reviews, I read that Pontius Pilate is a boring image. I do not agree with this. I have sympathy for this character. He is alone. The only truly close creature is Bang's dog. Pontius is the procurator of Judea. He is overcome by conflicting feelings. He likes Yeshua, but he remains an official. The procurator was unable to save his life. Probably scared. Because of this, he suffers. It seems that he still could not say the most important thing. But is it only Pontius Pilate who is tormented by this?

“The deception of himself consisted in the fact that the procurator tried to convince himself that these actions, now, in the evening, were no less important than the morning sentence. But the procurator was very bad at it.”

Impressed by all the images of the work of Mikhail Afanasyevich. But I also want to express admiration for the language of the novel. How many aphorisms are there!

« Love jumped out in front of us, like a murderer jumping out of the ground in an alley, and hit us both at once! This is how lightning strikes, this is how a Finnish knife strikes!

“Who said that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world? May the liar be cut off his vile tongue!”

“Understand that the tongue can hide the truth, but the eyes never! Alarmed by the question, the truth from the bottom of the soul jumps into the eyes for a moment, and it is noticed, and you are caught.

“Never be afraid of anything. This is unreasonable. "

"A brick will never fall on anyone's head for no reason."

"It's easy and pleasant to tell the truth."

"Manuscripts don't burn!"

And in general, the speech of the characters is deeply individualized, it conveys the peculiarity of character, level of education, upbringing.

description master. I especially remember the Ball of Satan. Bright, fabulous. This grandiose spectacle is breathtaking. How much fantasy, fiction! And all this is due to the author's ability to use the richness of the Russian language, his talent as a writer.

If someone else has not read this novel, in a good way I envy him. He learns an interesting story from the life of extraordinary characters. Become richer spiritually.

My wish: read the novel and do not look for politics here (literary critics often write about this sometimes), and you can feel all the magic of the events described in it.

And we continue to publish the most interesting quotes of all times and peoples, and today we have an equally significant quote from the lips ... Who would you think? Who is the author of the lines - Who told you that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world? Let the liar cut out his vile tongue!

The correct answer to this question is Mikhail Bulgakov

PART TWO

Chapter 19

Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world? Let the liar cut out his vile tongue!

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

Not! The master was mistaken when he bitterly told Ivanushka in the hospital at the hour when the night passed midnight that she had forgotten him. It couldn't be. She certainly didn't 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 absolutely true. 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 they want to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. The childless thirty-year-old Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who, moreover, made the 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 the garden in one of the lanes near the Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can be convinced of this if he wishes to go to this garden. Let him turn to me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact.

“Who told you that there is no true, true, eternal love in the world? ..” (Based on the novel by M.A. Bulgakov “The Master and Margarita”)

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov is a great Russian writer. His work has received well-deserved recognition and has become 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 1891 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 until the last day of his 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 worldwide fame. Outstanding creative minds refer Bulgakov's work "The Master and Margarita" to the top phenomena of the artistic culture of the twentieth century. This novel is multifaceted, which reflects 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 dissident people, envy reigns in the world that surrounds the Master and Margarita.
The master, the protagonist of Bulgakov's novel, creates a novel about Christ and Pilate. This hero is an unrecognized artist, and somewhere the interlocutor of the greats of this world, who is driven by a thirst for knowledge. He tries to penetrate into the depths of centuries in order to understand the eternal. The master is a collective image of a person striving to know the eternal laws of morality.
Once, while walking, the Master met his future beloved Margarita at the corner of Tverskaya and the lane. The heroine, whose name appears in the title of the novel, occupies a unique position in the structure of the work. Bulgakov himself describes her this way: “She was beautiful and smart. One more thing must be added to this - it can be said with certainty that many would give anything for exchanging their lives 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 had already in the first days of their relationship come to the conclusion that fate itself had pushed them at the corner of Tverskaya and lane and that they were bound for each other forever.”
Margarita in the novel is the bearer of a huge, poetic, all-encompassing and inspired love, which the author called "eternal". She has become a beautiful 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 that flashed “lightning” turns out to be. Margarita, selflessly loving, overcomes the chaos of life. She creates her own destiny, fights for the Master, overcoming her own weaknesses. While attending a light full moon ball, Margarita saves the Master. Under the peals of a cleansing thunderstorm, their love passes into eternity.
When 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, 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, true, eternal love in the world? Let the liar cut out his vile tongue!
Behind me is my reader, and only behind 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 comprehended. 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 turned to the future, is a book for all time.
The novel "The Master and Margarita" will remain in the history of Russian and world literature not only as evidence of the human resilience and citizenship of Bulgakov - the writer, not only as a hymn to the creative person - 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.