Mikhail Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita / Мастер и Маргарита. Книга для чтения на английском языке

© Hugh Aplin, 2008

© Каро, 2020

At the hour of the hot spring sunset at Patriarch’s Ponds two citizens appeared. The first of them – some forty years old and dressed in a nice grey summer suit – was short, well fed and bald; he carried his respectable pork-pie hat [1] pork-pie hat – шляпа с круглой плоской тульёй, шляпа-"пирожок” in his hand, and had a neatly shaved face adorned by spectacles of supernatural proportions in black horn frames. The second – a broad-shouldered, gingery, shock-headed young man with a checked cloth cap cocked towards the back of his head – was wearing a cowboy shirt, crumpled white trousers and black soft shoes.

The first was none other than Mikhail Alexandrovich Berlioz, the editor of a thick literary journal and chairman of the board of one of Moscow’s biggest literary associations, known in abbreviation as MASSOLIT [2] MASSOLIT: The organization is an invention of Bulgakov’s. (Комментарий И. Беспалова) , [3] MASSOLIT – Массолит – вымышленное объединение литераторов while his young companion was the poet Ivan Nikolayevich Ponyrev, who wrote under the pseudonym Bezdomny. [4] Bezdomny: The poet’s pseudonym, reminiscent of those of Maxim Gorky (“bitter”), Demyan Bedny (“poor”) and others, means “homeless”. (Комментарий И. Беспалова)

Entering the shade of the lime trees that were just becoming green, the writers first and foremost hurried towards a colourfully painted little booth with the inscription "Beer and Minerals”.

Yes, the first strange thing about that terrible May evening should be noted. Not just by the booth, but along the entire tree-lined avenue running parallel to Malaya Bronnaya Street, not a single person was about. At that hour, when people no longer even seemed to have the strength to breathe, when the sun, having heated Moscow up to an unbearable degree, was toppling in a dry mist somewhere down beyond the Garden Ring Road, nobody had come along here under the lime trees, nobody had sat down on a bench: the avenue was empty.

“Narzan, [5] Narzan: Sparkling mineral water. (Комментарий И. Беспалова) please,” requested Berlioz.

“There’s no Narzan,” replied the woman in the booth, and for some reason took umbrage [6] to take umbrage – обижаться .

“Is there beer?” enquired Bezdomny in a hoarse voice [7] in a hoarse voice – хриплым, осипшим голосом .

“They’ll be bringing beer towards evening,” the woman replied.

“What is there, then?” asked Berlioz.

“Apricot squash – only it’s warm,” said the woman.

“Well, come on, come on, come on!”

The apricot squash produced an abundant yellow foam, and there was a sudden smell of the hairdresser’s in the air. Having quenched their thirst [8] to quench one’s thirst – утолять жажду , the writers immediately started hiccuping; they settled up, and seated themselves on a bench with their faces to the pond and their backs to Bronnaya.

At this point the second strange thing occurred, concerning Berlioz alone. He suddenly stopped hiccuping; his heart gave a thump [9] heart gave a thump – сердце встрепенулось and disappeared somewhere for a moment, then returned, but with a blunt needle lodged in it. Moreover, Berlioz was seized by terror – groundless, but so powerful that he felt the urge to flee from Patriarch’s Ponds at once without a backward glance.

Berlioz glanced back in anguish, unable to understand what had frightened him. He turned pale, mopped his brow with his handkerchief and thought: “What is the matter with me? This has never happened before… my heart’s playing up… I’m overtired. Maybe it’s time to let everything go to the devil and be off to Kislovodsk…”

And then the sultry air thickened before him, and out of this air was woven a transparent citizen of very strange appearance. On his little head a jockey’s peaked cap, a little checked jacket – tight, and airy too. a citizen almost seven feet tall, but narrow in the shoulders, unbelievably thin, and a physiognomy, I beg you to note, that was mocking [10] mocking physiognomy – глумливая физиономия .

Berlioz’s life had been shaped in such a way that he was not used to extraordinary phenomena. Turning still paler, he opened his eyes wide and thought in confusion: “It can’t be!.”

But, alas, it could, and the lanky citizen you could see through swayed to both left and right in front of him without touching the ground.

At this point Berlioz was horror-stricken [11] horror-stricken – охваченный ужасом to such a degree that he closed his eyes. And when he opened them, he saw that everything was over, the mirage had dissolved, the one in checks had vanished, and at the same time the blunt needle had dropped out of his heart.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed the editor. “You know, Ivan, I almost had a seizure [12] to have a seizure – получить удар just now because of the heat! There was even something like a hallucination…” He tried to grin, but alarm was still dancing in his eyes, and his hands were trembling. However, he gradually calmed down, fanned himself with his handkerchief and, saying quite brightly, “Well, and so.” he renewed the speech that had been interrupted by the drinking of the apricot squash.

This speech, as was learnt subsequently, was about Jesus Christ. The thing was, the editor had commissioned a long antireligious poem from the poet for the next issue of his journal. Ivan Nikolayevich had written this poem, in a very short time too, but unfortunately had not satisfied the editor with it at all. Bezdomny had outlined the main character of his poem – Jesus, that is – in very dark colours, yet nonetheless, in the editor’s opinion, the whole poem needed to be written all over again. And so now the editor was giving the poet something in the way of a lecture on Jesus, with the aim of underlining the poet s basic error.

It is hard to say what precisely had let Ivan Nikolayevich down [13] to let somebody down – подвести к.-л. – whether it had been the graphic power of his talent, or his utter unfamiliarity with the question on which he was writing – but his Jesus had come out as just a living Jesus who had once existed: only, true, a Jesus furnished with all the negative features possible.

And Berlioz wanted to demonstrate to the poet that the main thing was not what Jesus was like, whether he was good or bad, but that this Jesus, as a person, had not existed in the world at all, and that all the stories about him were simply inventions, the most commonplace myth.

It must be noted that the editor was a well-read man, and pointed very skilfully in his speech to the ancient historians – for example, to the celebrated Philo of Alexandria [14] Philo of Alexandria: a philosopher and religious thinker ( c .25 bc-50 ad). (Комментарий И. Беспалова) [15] Philo of Alexandria – Филон Александрийский, философ и религиозный мыслитель and to the brilliantly educated Flavius Josephus, [16] Flavius Josephus: Roman historian (37 ad-after 100). (Комментарий И. Беспалова) [17] Flavius Josephus – Иосиф Флавий, еврейский историк и военачальник who had never said a word about the existence of Jesus. Displaying sound erudition [18] sound erudition – блестящая эрудиция , Mikhail Alexandrovich also informed the poet, incidentally, that the passage in book fifteen, chapter forty-four of the celebrated Annales of Tacitus, [19] the celebrated Annales of Tacitus: The chronicle Annales by Gaius Cornelius Tacitus (c.55-c.120) deals with Roman history of the years 14–68. (Комментарий И. Беспалова) [20] Annales of Tacitus – «Анналы», последнее и самое крупное сочинение древнеримского историка Публия Корнелия Тацита where the execution of Jesus is spoken of, is nothing other than a later forged interpolation.