to a platform which  appeared in the empty space. When she had
mounted it, to her amazement she heard a bell  strike midnight,  although by
her reckoning  midnight was long  past. At  the last chime of  the invisible
clock silence fell on the crowd of guests.
     Then  Margarita  saw  Woland.  He approached  surrounded  by  Abadonna,
Azazello and several young men in black resembling Abadonna. She now noticed
another platform beside her own, prepared for Woland.  But he  did not  make
use  of  it.  Margarita was  particularly  surprised to notice  that  Woland
appeared  at the ball in exactly the same state in which he had been in  the
bedroom. The same dirty, patched nightshirt hung from his shoulders  and his
feet were in darned bedroom slippers. Woland was armed with his sword but he
leaned on the naked weapon as though it were a walking stick.
     Limping, Woland stopped beside his platform. At  once Azazello appeared
in front of him bearing a dish. On that dish Margarita  saw the severed head
of a man  with most  of its  front  teeth missing. There was  still absolute
silence, only broken by the distant sound, puzzling in the circumstances, of
a door-bell ringing.
     'Mikhail Alexandrovich,' said Woland quietly to the head, at which its
eyelids opened. With a shudder Margarita saw that the eyes in that dead face
were alive, fully conscious and tortured with pain.
     'It all  came  true, didn't it? ' said Woland,  staring at the eyes of
the  head. ' Your head was cut off by a woman, the meeting didn't take place
and  I  am  living  in your flat. That is  a fact. And a  fact is  the  most
obdurate thing in the  world.  But what interests us  now is the future, not
the facts of  the past.  You have always  been  a fervent proponent  of  the
theory that when a man's  head is  cut off  his life stops, he turns to dust
and he ceases to  exist. I am glad to be able to tell you in front of all my
guests-- despite  the fact that their presence here is proof to the contrary
--that your  theory  is intelligent  and  sound.  Now--one  theory  deserves
another. Among them there is one which maintains that a man will receive his
deserts in accordance with his beliefs. So be it!  You shall depart into the
void and from the  goblet into which your skull is about to be transformed I
shall have the pleasure of drinking to life eternal! '
     Woland raised his sword. Immediately the  skin of the head darkened and
shrank,  then  fell  away in shreds, the eyes  disappeared  and in a  second
Margarita  saw on  the  dish a yellowed skull, with emerald  eyes  and pearl
teeth, mounted on a golden stand. The top of the skull opened with a hinge.
     'In a second, messire,'  said  Koroviev,  noticing Woland's enquiring
glance, ' he will stand  before you. I can  hear the creak of  his shoes and
the tinkle as he puts down the last glass of champagne of his lifetime. Here
he is.'
     A new  guest, quite alone,  entered the ballroom.  Outwardly  he was no
different from the thousands of other male  guests, except  in one thing--he
was  literally staggering with fright. Blotches glowed on his cheeks and his
eyes were swivelling with alarm. The guest  was stunned.  Everything that he
saw shocked him, above all the way Woland was dressed.
     Yet he was greeted with marked courtesy.
     'Ah, my dear Baron Maigel,' Woland  said with a welcoming smile to his
guest, whose eyes  were  starting out of his head. ' I am happy to introduce
to you,' Woland turned towards his guests, ' Baron Maigel, who works for the
Entertainments  Commission as  a  guide  to  the sights  of  the capital for
foreign visitors.'
     Then Margarita  went  numb. She recognised  this  man  Maigel.  She had
noticed him several times in Moscow theatres and restaurants. ' Has  he died
too? ' Margarita wondered. But the matter was soon explained.
     'The  dear Baron,' Woland continued with a broad smile, ' was charming
enough  to ring me  up as soon as I arrived in Moscow and  to  offer me  his
expert  services as a guide to the sights of the city. Naturally I was happy
to invite him to come and see me.'
     Here Margarita noticed that Azazello handed the  dish with the skull to
Koroviev.
     'By  the  way. Baron,'  said  Woland,  suddenly  lowering  his  voice
confidentially,  '  rumours  have  been   going  round   that  you  have  an
unquenchable curiosity. This characteristic, people say, together with  your
no  less developed  conversational  gifts,  has  begun  to  attract  general
attention.  What  is  more,  evil  tongues  have  let   slip  the   words  "
eavesdropper" and "  spy." What is more, there is a suggestion that this may
bring you to an unhappy  end in less than  a month from  now. So in order to
save you  from the agonising suspense of waiting, we have decided to come to
your help, making use of the fact that  you invited yourself to see  me with
the aim of spying and eavesdropping as much as you could.'
     The  Baron turned  paler  than  the pallid Abadonna and then  something
terrible happened. Abadonna stepped  in front of the Baron and for a  second
took off his spectacles. At that moment there was  a  flash and a crack from
Azazello's  hand  and the Baron staggered, crimson blood  spurting from  his
chest and  drenching his starched  shirtfront and waistcoat. Koroviev placed
the skull under the pulsating stream  of blood  and when the goblet was full
handed it to Woland. The Baron's lifeless body had meanwhile crumpled to the
floor.
     'Your health, ladies and gentlemen,' said Woland and raised the goblet
to his lips.
     An instant metamorphosis took place. The nightshirt and darned slippers
vanished. Woland was wearing a black gown with a sword at his hip. He strode
over to Margarita, offered her the goblet and said in a commanding voice :
     'Drink!'
     Margarita felt dizzy, but the cup was  already at her lips and a  voice
was whispering in her ears :
     'Don't be afraid, your majesty . .  .  don't  be afraid, your majesty,
the blood has long since drained away  into the earth  and grapes have grown
on the spot.'
     Her eyes shut, Margarita took a sip and the sweet juice ran through her
veins, her ears rang.  She  was  deafened  by  cocks crowing, a distant band
played a  march. The crowd of guests faded--the tailcoated men and the women
withered to  dust and before her eyes the bodies began to rot, the stench of
the tomb  filled the air. The  columns  dissolved, the lights went  out, the
fountains dried up and vanished with the  camellias and the tulips. All that
remained was what had been there before : poor Berlioz's  drawing-room, with
a shaft  of light falling through  its half-open door.  Margarita  opened it
wide and went in.



        24. The Master is Released



     Everything in  Woland's bedroom was  as it had  been  before  the ball.
Woland  was sitting  in his nightshirt on the  bed, only this time Hella was
not  rubbing his  knee, and a meal was  laid on the  table in  place of  the
chessboard.  Koroviev and  Azazello  had  removed  their tailcoats  and were
sitting  at table, alongside  them the cat, who  still refused to be  parted
from  his bow-tie even  though  it was by  now reduced  to a  grubby  shred.
Tottering,  Margarita walked  up  to the  table  and  leaned on  it.  Woland
beckoned  her, as before, to sit  beside him on the bed. ' Well, was it very
exhausting? ' enquired Woland. ' Oh  no, messire,'  replied  Margarita in  a
scarcely audible voice. ' Noblesse oblige,' remarked the  cat, pouring out a
glassful of clear liquid for Margarita.
     'Is that  vodka? ' Margarita asked weakly. The  cat jumped up from its
chair  in indignation. '  Excuse me, your  majesty,' he  squeaked, '  do you
think I would give vodka  to a lady? That  is pure spirit!' Margarita smiled
and tried to push away the  glass. ' Drink it up,' said Woland and Margarita
at once picked up the glass.
     'Sit  down, Hella,' ordered Woland, and explained to Margarita : ' The
night of the full moon is a night of celebration,  and I dine in the company
of my close friends and my servants. Well, how do you feel? How did you find
that exhausting ball? '
     'Shattering! '  quavered Koroviev. ' They were all  charmed, they  all
fell in love with her, they  were all crushed! Such tact, such savoir-faire,
such fascination, such charm! '
     Woland silently raised his  glass and  clinked it with Margarita's. She
drank  obediently, expecting the  spirit to  knock her  out.  It had no  ill
effect,  however.  The  reviving warmth flowed through her body,  she felt a
mild shock in the back of her neck, her strength returned as if she had just
woken  from  a  long  refreshing  sleep  and  she  felt  ravenously  hungry.
Remembering that she had not eaten since  the morning of the day before, her
hunger increased and she began wolfing down caviar.
     Behemoth cut himself a slice of pineapple, salted and  peppered it, ate
it and chased it  down  with a second  glass  of spirit with a flourish that
earned a round of applause.
     After Margarita's  second glassful the light in  the  candelabra burned
brighter and the coals in  the fireplace glowed hotter, yet she did not feel
the least drunk. As her white teeth bit into the meat Margarita savoured the
delicious juice that poured from it and watched  Behemoth smearing an oyster
with mustard.
     'If I were you I  should put a grape on top of it,  too,'  said Hella,
digging the cat in the ribs.
     'Kindly don't  teach your grandmother to suck eggs,' Behemoth replied.
' I know how to behave at table, so mind your own business.'
     'Oh, how nice  it is to dine like this, at home,'  tinkled Koro-viev's
voice, ' just among friends . . .'
     'No,  Faggot,' said the cat. '  I  like the ball--it's  so grand  and
exciting.'
     'It's not in the least  exciting and not very grand either, and those
idiotic bears and the tigers in  the bar--they nearly gave me  migraine with
their roaring,' said Woland.
     'Of course,  messire,'  said the cat. '  If you  think it wasn't  very
grand, I immediately find myself agreeing with you.'
     'And so I should think,' replied Woland.
     'I was joking,' said the cat meekly ' and  as  for those tigers,  I'll
have them roasted.'
     'You can't eat tiger-meat' said Hella.
     'Think so?  Well, let me tell you a story,' retorted the cat. Screwing
up its eyes with pleasure it  told a story of how it had once spent nineteen
days wandering in the desert and its only food had been the meat of a  tiger
it had killed. They all listened with fascination and when Behemoth came  to
the end of his story they all chorussed in unison :
     'Liar! '
     'The most  interesting  thing about that  farrago,' said Woland, ' was
that it was a lie from first to last.'
     'Oh, you think  so, do  you? ' exclaimed the cat and everybody thought
that it  was about to  protest again,  but it only said quietly : '  History
will be my judge.'
     'Tell me,' revived by the vodka Margot turned to Azazello :
     'did you shoot that ex-baron? '
     'Of course,' replied Azazello,' why not? He needed shooting.'
     'I  had such  a  shock!  '  exclaimed Margarita,  '  it  happened  so
unexpectedly! '
     'There  was  nothing unexpected  about  it,'  Azazello objected,  and
Koroviev whined :
     'Of course she was shocked. Why, even I was shaking in my shoes! Bang!
Crash! Down went the baron! '
     'I  nearly had hysterics,' added  the cat,  licking a  caviar-smeared
spoon.
     'But there's something I can't understand,' said Margarita,  her  eyes
sparkling with curiosity. ' Couldn't the music and general noise of the ball
be heard outside? '
     'Of course  not, your majesty,' said Koroviev. ' We saw to that. These
things must be done discreetly.'
     'Yes, I see ... but what about that man on the staircase when Azazello
and I  came up ... and the other one at the foot of the staircase? I had the
impression that they were keeping watch on your flat.'
     'You're right,  you're  right,' cried Koroviev,' you're right, my dear
Margarita  Nikolayevna!  You  have  confirmed my  suspicions.  Yes,  he  was
watching our flat. For a while I thought he was some absent-minded professor
or a lover mooning about on the staircase.  But no!  I  had an uncomfortable
feeling  he  might be watching the flat.  And there  was another  one at the
bottom of the stairs too? And the one at the main entrance-- did he look the
same? ' ' Suppose they come and arrest you? ' asked Margarita.
     'Oh,  they'll  come  all  right, fairest one, they'll come!' answered
Koroviev. ' I feel it in my bones. Not now, of course, but they'll come when
they're ready. But I don't think they'll have much luck.'
     'Oh,  what  a  shock I  had  when the Baron fell! '  said  Margarita,
obviously still feeling the effects of seeing her first murder. '  I suppose
you're a good shot? '
     'Fair,' answered Azazello.
     'At how many paces? '
     'As many as  you  like,'  replied Azazello. '  It's one  thing to hit
Latunsky's windows with a hammer, but it's quite another to hit  him in  the
heart.'
     'In the heart!  '  exclaimed Margarita, clutching her  own heart. ' In
the heart! ' she repeated grimly.
     'What's this about Latunsky? ' enquired Woland, frowning at Margarita.
     Azazello,  Koroviev  and  Behemoth  looked  down  in embarrassment  and
Margarita replied, blushing :
     'He's a critic. I wrecked his flat this evening.'
     'Did you now! Why?'
     'Because,  messire,'  Margarita explained, ' he  destroyed  a  certain
master.'
     'But why did you put yourself to such trouble?' asked Woland.
     'Let me do it, messire!' cried the cat joyfully, jumping to its feet.
     'You sit down,' growled Azazello, rising. ' I'll go at once.'
     'No!' cried Margarita. ' No, I beg you, messire, you mustn't!'
     'As you wish, as you wish,' replied Woland. Azazello sat down again.
     'Where were we, precious queen  Margot?' said Koroviev. ' Ah  yes, his
heart...  He can hit  a man's  heart  all  right,'  Koroviev  pointed a long
.finger  at  Azazello.  '  Anywhere you like. Just name the auricle--or  the
ventricle.'
     For a moment Margarita did not grasp the implication of this,  then she
exclaimed in amazement:
     'But they're inside the body--you can't see them! '
     'My dear,' burbled Koroviev,  ' that's the whole point--you can't  see
them! That's the joke! Any fool can hit something you can see!'
     Koroviev took the seven  of spades out of a box, showed it to Margarita
and asked her  to point  at one of the pips. Margarita chose the  one in the
upper right-hand corner. Hella hid the card under a pillow and shouted :
     'Ready!'
     Azazello, who  was  sitting  with  his back to the pillow, took a black
automatic out of his trouser pocket, aimed the muzzle over his shoulder and,
without turning round towards the  bed, fired, giving Margarita an enjoyable
shock. The  seven  of  spades  was removed  from under the pillow. The upper
right-hand pip was shot through.
     'I  wouldn't like to  meet you  when  you've  got a  revolver,'  said
Margarita with a  coquettish look at Azazello. She had  a passion for people
who did things well.
     'My precious queen,'  squeaked Koroviev,' I don't recommend anybody to
meet him even without  his revolver! I give  you  my word  of honour  as  an
ex-choirmaster that anybody who did would regret it.'
     During  the trial of marksmanship the cat had sat scowling. Suddenly it
announced:
     'I bet I can shoot better than that.'
     Azazello  snorted, but Behemoth was insistent  and demanded not one but
two revolvers. Azazello drew another  pistol  from  his left hip pocket  and
with a sarcastic grin handed them both to the cat. Two pips on the card were
selected. The cat took  a long time  to prepare, then turned its back on the
cushion.  Margarita sat down with her fingers in her ears and  stared at the
owl dozing on the mantelpiece.  Behemoth fired from both revolvers, at which
there came a yelp from Hella, the owl fell dead from the mantelpiece and the
clock stopped from a bullet in its vitals. Hella, one finger bleeding,  sank
her nails into the cat's fur. Behemoth in retaliation clawed at her hair and
the pair of them rolled on the  floor in a struggling heap. A glass fell off
the table and broke.
     'Somebody pull this she-devil off me! ' wailed the cat, lashing out at
Hella who had thrown the animal on its back and was sitting  astride it. The
combatants were  separated and  Koroviev  healed Hella's  wounded  finger by
blowing on it.
     'I can't shoot  properly when people are whispering about me behind my
back! ' shouted Behemoth, trying to stick back into place a large handful of
fur that had been torn off his back.
     'I bet you,' said Woland with a smile at Margarita, ' that he did that
on purpose. He can shoot perfectly well.'
     Hella  and the cat  made friends again and  sealed their reconciliation
with a kiss. Someone removed the card  from under the  cushion  and examined
it.  Not a  single  pip,  except the one shot  through  by Azazello had been
touched.
     'I don't believe it,' said the  cat, staring through  the hole in  the
card at the light of the candelabra.
     Supper went  gaily on. The  candles  began  to gutter, a warm dry  heat
suffused  the room from the fireplace. Having eaten  her fill, a  feeling of
well-being came  over Margarita. She watched as Azazello blew smoke-rings at
the fireplace and the cat spiked them on the end of his sword.  She  felt no
desire to go, although by  her timing  it was  late--probably,  she thought,
about six o'clock in the morning. During a pause Margarita turned to  Woland
and said timidly :
     'Excuse me, but it's time for me to go ...  it's getting late . . .' '
Where are you going in such a hurry?' enquired  Woland politely but a little
coldly. The others said nothing, pretending to be watching the game with the
smoke-rings.
     'Yes,  it's  time,' said  Margarita uneasily  and turned  round as if
looking for a cloak or something else to wear.  Her  nakedness was beginning
to embarrass her. She got up from the table. In silence Woland picked up his
greasy dressing-gown  from the bed  and Koroviev  threw  it over Margarita's
shoulders.
     'Thank you, messire,' whispered Margarita with a questioning glance at
Woland. In reply he  gave her a polite but apathetic smile. Black depression
at once swelled  up in Margarita's heart.  She felt herself  cheated. No one
appeared  to be  going to offer her any reward for her  services at the ball
and  nobody made  a  move  to prevent her going. Yet she realised quite well
that she had nowhere to go. A passing thought that she might have to go back
home  brought on an  inner convulsion of despair. Dared  she ask  about  the
master, as Azazello had so temptingly suggested in the Alexander  Gardens? '
No, never!' she said to herself.
     'Goodbye, messire,' she said aloud, thinking : ' If only I can get out
of here, I'll make straight for the river and drown myself! '
     'Sit down,'  Woland  suddenly  commanded  her.  A  change  came  over
Margarita's face and she sat down.
     'Perhaps you'd like to say something in farewell? '
     'Nothing, messire,' replied Margarita proudly, ' however, if you still
need me I am ready to do anything you wish.  I  am  not  at all tired  and I
enjoyed the ball. If it had lasted longer I would have been glad to continue
offering  my  knee   to  be  kissed  by  thousands  more  gallows-birds  and
murderers.'
     Margarita felt she was looking  at Woland through a  veil; her eyes had
filled with tears.
     'Well said! '  boomed Woland  in a terrifying  voice. '  That was the
right answer! '
     'The right  answer! ' echoed Woland's retinue in unison. ' We have put
you to the test,' said  Woland. ' You  should never ask anyone for anything.
Never--and  especially from those who are more  powerful than yourself. They
will make the offer and they will give of their own accord. Sit  down, proud
woman! ' Woland pulled the heavy dressing-gown from Margarita's back and she
again found herself sitting beside him on  the  bed. '  So, Margot,'  Woland
went on,  his voice softening. ' What do you want for having been my hostess
tonight?  What reward  do you want for having  spent  the night  naked? What
price  do you  set on your bruised knee? What damages did you suffer  at the
hands of my guests, whom just now you called gallows-birds? Tell me! You can
speak without constraint now, because it was I who made the offer.'
     Margarita's heart  began to knock, she sighed deeply and tried to think
of something.
     'Come  now,  be  brave!  '  said  Woland  encouragingly.  ' Use  your
imagination! The mere fact of having watched the murder of that worn-out old
rogue of a baron is worth a reward, especially for a woman. Well? '
     Margarita  caught  her breath. She was  about to  utter her secret wish
when she suddenly turned pale, opened her mouth and stared. ' Frieda! . .  .
Frieda, Frieda! ' a sobbing, imploring voice cried in  her ear. ' My name is
Frieda! ' and Margarita said, stuttering:
     'Can I ask . . . for one thing? '
     'Demand, don't ask, madonna mia,' replied Woland with an understanding
smile. ' You may demand one thing.'
     With  careful  emphasis Woland repeated Margarita's own words :  '  one
thing '.
     Margarita sighed again and said :
     'I  want  them to stop giving Frieda back the handkerchief she used to
stifle her baby.'
     The cat looked up at the ceiling and sighed noisily, but said  nothing,
obviously remembering the damage done to his ear.
     'In view of the fact,' said  Woland, smiling,' that the possibility of
your having taken a bribe from that idiot Frieda is, of course, excluded--it
would  in any case have  been  unfitting to your queenly rank--I don't  know
what to do. So there only  remains one thing--to find yourself some rags and
use them to block up all the cracks in my bedroom.'
     'What  do  you mean, messire?  ' said Margarita,  puzzled.  '  I quite
agree,  messire,' interrupted  the cat. '  Rags--that's  it!  '  And the cat
banged its paw on the table in exasperation.
     'I was  speaking of compassion,'  explained  Woland,  the gaze of his
fiery eye fixed on Margarita. ' Sometimes it creeps in through the narrowest
cracks. That is why I suggested using rags to block them up . . .'
     'That's what I meant, too!  '  exclaimed  the cat,  for  safety's sake
edging away from Margarita and covering its pointed  ears with  paws smeared
in pink cream.
     'Get out,' Woland said to the cat.
     'I haven't had my coffee,' replied Behemoth. ' How  can  you expect me
to go yet? Surely you don't divide your guests into two grades on a  festive
night like this, do you--first-grade and second-grade-fresh, in the words of
that miserable cheeseparing barman? '
     'Shut up,' said Woland, then turning to Margarita enquired :
     'To judge  from everything about you, you seem to be a good person. Am
I right? '
     'No,' replied Margarita forcefully. ' I know that I can only be frank
with  you and I  tell  you frankly--I am headstrong. I only  asked you about
Frieda because  I was rash  enough to give her a firm  hope.  She's waiting,
messire, she believes  in  my  power. And if she's cheated  I shall be in  a
terrible  position. I  shall have no peace for the rest of my life.  I can't
help it--it just happened.'
     'That's quite understandable,' said Woland.
     'So will you do it? ' Margarita asked quietly.
     'Out of the question,' replied Woland. ' The fact is,  my dear  queen,
that there has been a slight misunderstanding. Each department must stick to
its own business. I admit that our  scope is fairly wide, in fact it is much
wider than a number of very sharp-eyed people imagine . . .'
     'Yes,  much  wider,'  said the  cat,  unable  to restrain  itself and
obviously proud of its interjections.
     'Shut  up,  damn you!  ' said Woland,  and  he turned  and went on to
Margarita. ' But what sense is there, I ask you, in doing something which is
the business of another department, as  I call it? So you see I can't do it;
you must do it yourself.'
     'But can I do it? '
     Azazello squinted at Margarita, gave an imperceptible flick  of his red
mop and sneered.
     'That's just the trouble--to do it,' murmured Woland. He
     had been turning the  globe, staring at some detail  on it,  apparently
absorbed in something else while Margarita  had  been talking. ' Well, as to
Frieda  . .  .' Koroviev  prompted her.  ' Frieda!  ' cried  Margarita in  a
piercing voice. The door burst open  and a naked, dishevelled but completely
sober woman with ecstatic  eyes ran into the room and stretched out her arms
towards Margarita, who said majestically :
     'You are forgiven. You will never be given the handkerchief again.'
     Frieda gave a shriek and fell spreadeagled, face downward  on the floor
in front of Margarita. Woland waved his hand and Frieda vanished.
     'Thank you. Goodbye,' said Margarita and rose to go. ' Now, Behemoth,'
said Woland, ' as tonight is a holiday we  shan't  take advantage of her for
being  so impractical, shall we? ' He turned to Margarita. ' All right, that
didn't count, because I did nothing. What do you want for yourself? '
     There was silence, broken by Koroviev whispering to Margarita:
     'Madonna bellissima, this  time I  advise you to be more  sensible. Or
your luck may run out.'
     'I want  you to give me back  instantly,  this minute, my lover --the
master,' said Margarita, her face contorted.
     A gust  of wind burst into  the room, flattening the candle flames. The
heavy  curtain  billowed  out,  the  window was flung  open. and high  above
appeared  a  full  moon--not a  setting moon, but the  midnight moon. A dark
green cloth stretched from the wind-ow-sill to the  floor and down it walked
Ivan's night  visitor, the man who called himself the master. He was wearing
his hospital clothes--dressing-gown,  slippers  and the black cap from which
he was never parted. His  unshaven face twitched  in a grimace, he  squinted
with fear at the candle flames and a flood of moonlight boiled around him.
     Margarita recognised him at once,  groaned,  clasped her hands  and ran
towards him. She  kissed him on the forehead, the lips, pressed  her face to
his prickly cheek and  her long-suppressed tears streamed down her face. She
could only say, repeating it like a senseless refrain :
     'It's you . . . it's you . . . it's you . . .'
     The master pushed her away and said huskily :
     'Don't cry, Margot, don't torment me, I'm very ill,' and he
     grasped the windowsill as though preparing to jump out and
     run away again. Staring round at the figures seated in the room
     he cried : ' I'm frightened, Margot! I'm getting hallucinations
     again . . .'
     Stifled with sobbing, Margarita whispered, stammering :
     'No, no ... don't be  afraid  . .  . I'm  here  . .  . I'm here . . .'
Deftly and unobtrusively Koroviev slipped a chair behind the
     master. He collapsed into it and Margarita fell on her knees at
     his side, where she grew calmer. In her excitement she had not
     noticed that she was no longer naked and that she was now
     wearing a black silk gown. The master's head nodded forward
     and he stared gloomily at the floor.
     'Yes,' said Woland after a pause, ' they have almost broken
     him.' He gave an order to Koroviev :
     'Now, sir, give this man something to drink.'
     In a trembling voice Margarita begged the master :
     'Drink it, drink it! Are you afraid? No, no, believe me,
     they want to help you! '
     The sick man took the glass and drank it, but his hand trembled,
     he dropped the glass and it shattered on the floor.
     'Ma^el tov!' Koroviev whispered to Margarita. ' Look, he's
     coming to himself already.'
     It was true. The patient's stare was less wild and distraught.
     'Is it really you, Margot? asked the midnight visitor.
     'Yes, it really is,' replied Margarita.
     'More! ' ordered Woland.
     When the master had drained the second glass his eyes were
     fully  alive and conscious. ' That's better,' said Woland with a slight
frown. ' Now we can talk. Who are you? '
     'I am no one,' replied the master with a lopsided smile.
     'Where have you just come from? '
     'From the madhouse. I am a mental patient,' replied the visitor.
     Margarita could not bear to hear this and burst  into tears again. Then
she wiped her eyes and cried :
     'It's  terrible--terrible! He  is a master, messire, I warn you! Cure
him--he's worth it! '
     'You realise who I am, don't you? ' Woland asked. ' Do you know  where
you are? '
     'I know,' answered the  master. 'My next-door neighbour in the madhouse
is that boy, Ivan Bezdomny. He told me about you.'
     'Did he now!  ' replied Woland. ' I  had the pleasure  of meeting that
young man at Patriarch's Ponds. He nearly drove me mad, trying to prove that
I didn't exist. But you believe in me, I hope? '
     'I must,'  said the  visitor, ' although I  would much prefer it if  I
could regard  you as  a figment of  my own hallucination. Forgive me,' added
the master, recollecting himself.
     'By all  means regard  me as  such if that  makes  you any  happier,'
replied Woland politely.
     'No,  no!  ' said Margarita  with anxiety, shaking the  master by  the
shoulder. ' Think again! It really is him! '
     'But  I  really  am like a hallucination.  Look  at my  profile in the
moonlight,' said Behemoth. The cat  moved into a shaft of moonlight and  was
going to say something else, but was told to shut up and only said :
     'All right, all right, I'll be quiet. I'll be a silent hallucination.'
     'Tell me, why does Margarita call you the master? ' enquired Woland.
     The man laughed and said :
     'An understandable weakness of hers. She has  too high an opinion of a
novel that I've written.'   Which novel? '
     'A novel about Pontius Pilate.'
     Again the candle  flames flickered and  jumped and the crockery rattled
on the table as Woland  gave a laugh like  a clap of thunder. Yet no one was
frightened or shocked by the laughter; Behemoth even applauded.
     'About what? About whom?' said  Woland, ceasing to laugh. ' But that's
extraordinary!  In this  day  and  age?  Couldn't  you have  chosen  another
subject? Let me have a look.' Woland stretched out his hand palm uppermost.
     'Unfortunately I cannot show it to you,' replied the master, ' because
I burned it in my stove.'
     'I'm sorry  but I don't believe you,'  said Woland.  ' You can't have
done. Manuscripts don't burn.' He turned to Behemoth and said : '  Come  on.
Behemoth, give me the novel.'
     The cat jumped down from its chair and wh.ere he had been sitting was a
pile of  manuscripts.  With  a bow  the cat handed  the top copy to  Woland.
Margarita shuddered and cried out, moved to tears :
     'There's the manuscript! There it is! '
     She flung herself at Woland's feet and cried ecstatically:
     'You are all-powerful! '
     Woland took it, turned it over,  put it aside and turned, unsmiling, to
stare at the master. Without apparent cause the master had suddenly relapsed
into  uneasy gloom  ; he got  up from his chair, wrung his hands and turning
towards the distant moon he started to tremble, muttering :
     'Even by moonlight there's  no peace for me at  night. . . Why do they
torment me? Oh, ye gods . . .'
     Margarita clutched his hospital dressing-gown, embraced him  and moaned
tearfully :
     'Oh God, why didn't that medicine do you any good? '
     'Don't be upset,' whispered  Koroviev,  edging  up to  the master,  '
another little glassful and I'll have one myself to keep you company . . .'
     A glass winked in the moonlight. It began to work. The master  sat down
again and his expression grew calmer.
     'Well, that  makes everything quite  clear,' said Woland,  tapping the
manuscript with his long finger.
     'Quite  clear,' agreed the cat, forgetting its promise to  be a silent
hallucination.  ' I see the gist of this great opus quite  plainly now. What
do you say, Azazello? '
     'I say,' drawled Azazello, ' that you ought to be drowned.'
     'Be merciful,  Azazello', the  cat  replied,  '  and  don't  put  such
thoughts into  my  master's  head. I'd come and  haunt you every  night  and
beckon you to follow me. How would you like that, Azazello? '
     'Now Margarita,' said Woland, ' say whatever you wish to say.'
     Margarita's eyes shone and she said imploringly to Woland :
     'May I whisper to him? '
     Woland nodded and Margarita leaned over the  master's ear and whispered
something into it. Aloud, he replied :
     'No, it's too late. I want nothing more out of life except to see you.
But take my advice and leave me, otherwise you will be destroyed with me.'
     'No, I won't leave you,' replied Margarita, and to  Woland she said: '
Please send us back to his basement in that street near the Arbat, light the
lamp again and make everything as it was before.'
     The master laughed, and clasping Margarita's dishevelled head he said:
     'Don't listen to this poor woman, messire! Somebody else  is living in
that basement now and no one can turn back the clock.' He laid his  cheek on
his mistress's head, embraced Margarita and murmured:
     'My poor darling . . .'
     'No one can  turn the clock back,  did you say? ' said Woland ' That's
true. But we can always try. Azazello! '
     Immediately  a bewildered man  in his  underclothes crashed through the
ceiling to the floor, with a suitcase in his hand and wearing a cap. Shaking
with fear, the man bowed.
     'Is your name Mogarych? ' Azazello asked him.
     'Aloysius Mogarych,' said the new arrival, trembling.
     'Are you the man who lodged a complaint against this man ' --pointing
to the  master--' after you had read an article  about him by  Latunsky, and
denounced him for harbouring illegal literature? ' asked Azazello.
     The man turned blue and burst into tears of penitence.
     'You did it because you wanted  to  get  his flat, didn't you? ' said
Azazello in a confiding, nasal whine.
     The cat gave a hiss of fury and Margarita, with a howl of:
     'I'll teach  you to  thwart  a witch! ' dug her  nails  into Aloysius
Mogarych's face.
     There was a brisk scuffle.
     'Stop it!  '  cried  the master in an agonised voice.  ' Shame on you,
Margot! '
     'I protest! There's nothing shameful in it! ' squeaked the cat.
     Koroviev pulled Margarita away.
     'I put in a bathroom . . .'  cried Mogarych, his face streaming blood.
His teeth were chattering and he was babbling with fright. '  I  gave  it  a
coat of whitewash . . .'
     'What a  good  thing  that you put  in  a  bathroom,'  said  Azazello
approvingly. ' He'll be able  to have baths now.' And he shouted at Mogarych
: ' Get out! '
     The man turned head  over  heels and sailed out of  the open window  of
Woland's bedroom.
     His eyes starting from his head, the master whispered :
     'This beats Ivan's story! ' He  stared round in amazement then said to
the cat:  ' Excuse me,  but are you  . . .'  he hesitated, not sure  how one
talked to a cat: ' Are you the same cat who boarded the tramcar? '
     'I  am,'  said the cat,  flattered, and  added : '  It's nice to  hear
someone speak so politely to a  cat. People usually address cats as "  pussy
", which I regard as an infernal liberty.'
     'It  seems to me that you're  not entirely  a cat . . .'  replied  the
master hesitantly. ' The hospital people  are bound to  catch  me again, you
know,' he added to Woland resignedly.
     'Why should  they?' said Koroviev reassuringly. Some papers and books
appeared in his hand : ' Is this your case-history? '
     'Yes.. .'
     Koroviev  threw   the   case-history  into  the  fire.  '  Remove   the
document--and you remove the man,' said Koroviev with satisfaction.
     'And is this your landlord's rent-book? '
     'Yes...'
     'What is  the tenant's name? Aloysius Mogarych? ' Koroviev blew on the
page. '  Hey presto! He's gone and, please note, he was never there. If  the
landlord  is surprised, tell him  he was dreaming  about Aloysius. Mogarych?
What Mogarych? Never heard of him! ' At  this  the rent-book evaporated from
Koro-viev's hands. ' Now it's back on the landlord's desk.'
     'You were right,' said the master, amazed at Koroviev's  efficiency, '
when you said that once you remove the document, you remove the man as well.
I no longer exist now--I have no papers.'
     'Oh no, I beg your pardon,' exclaimed Koroviev. ' That is just another
hallucination. Here are your papers! ' He  handed the master some documents,
then said with a wink to Margarita:
     'And here is  your property, Margarita  Nikolayevna.'  Koroviev handed
Margarita a manuscript-book  with  burnt edges,  a dried  rose, a photograph
and, with special care, a savings-bank book :
     'The ten thousand  that you deposited,  Margarita Nikolayevna. We have
no use for other people's money.'
     'May my paws drop off before I touch other people's  money,' exclaimed
the cat,  bouncing  up and down on a suitcase to flatten  the copies of  the
ill-fated novel that were inside it.
     'And a little document of yours,' Koroviev went on, handing Margarita
a piece  of paper. Then turning to Woland he announced respectfully : ' That
is everything, messire.'
     'No, it's  not everything,' answered  Woland,  turning  away from  the
globe. ' What would you like  me to do with your retinue, Madonna? I have no
need of them myself.' Natasha, stark naked, flew  in at the open window  and
cried to
     Margarita : ' I hope you'll  be  very happy, Margarita  Nikolay-evna! '
She nodded towards the master and went on : ' You see, I knew  about it  all
the time.'
     'Servants know everything,' remarked the  cat, wagging its paw sagely.
' It's a mistake to think they're blind.'
     'What do you want, Natasha? ' asked Margarita. ' Go back home.'
     'Dear Margarita Nikolayevna,' said Natasha imploringly and fell on her
knees, ' ask him,' she nodded towards  Woland,  ' to let me stay a witch.  I
don't want to go back to that house! Last night at the ball Monsieur Jacques
made me an offer.' Natasha unclenched her fist and showed some gold coins.
     Margarita  looked enquiringly at  Woland, who nodded. Natasha  embraced
Margarita,  kissed her noisily  and with a triumphant cry  flew  out  of the
window.
     Natasha was followed by Nikolai Ivanovich. He  had regained human form,
but was extremely glum and rather cross.
     'Now here's  someone  I  shall  be especially glad  to release,' said
Woland, looking at Nikolai Ivanovich  with repulsion. ' I shall be delighted
to see the last of him.'
     'Whatever  you  do,  please  give  me a  certificate,'  said  Nikolai
Ivanovich, anxiously but with great insistence,  ' to prove where I was last
night.'
     'What for? ' asked the cat sternly.
     'To show to my wife and to the police,' said Nikolai Ivanovich firmly.
     'We don't usually give certificates,' replied  the cat frowning, ' but
as it's for you we'll make an exception.'
     Before Nikolai Ivanovich  knew what was happening, the naked Hella  was
sitting behind a typewriter and the cat dictating to her.
     'This  is to certify  that the Bearer,  Nikolai  Ivanovich,  spent the
night in question at Satan's Ball, having been enticed there in  a vehicular
capacity  .   .   .  Hella,   put  in  brackets  after   that  "  (pig)   ".
Signed--Behemoth.'
     'What about the date? ' squeaked Nikolai Ivanovich.
     'We  don't  mention  the date, the  document becomes  invalid if it's
dated,' replied the cat, waving the piece of paper. Then the animal produced
a rubber stamp, breathed on  it in the approved fashion, stamped ' Paid ' on
the paper and handed the document to Nikolai Ivanovich. He vanished  without
trace, to be unexpectedly replaced by another man.
     'Now who's this? ' asked  Woland contemptuously,  shielding  his  eyes
from the candlelight.
     Varenukha hung his head, sighed and said in a low voice :
     'Send me back, I'm no good as a vampire. Hella and I nearly frightened
Rimsky to death, but  I'll never make a vampire--I'm just not  bloodthirsty.
Please let me go.'
     'What  is he babbling  about?' asked  Woland, frowning. ' Who  is  this
Rimsky? What is all this nonsense? '
     'Nothing  to worry  about, messire,'  said Azazello and he turned  to
Varenukha :  ' Don't play the fool  or tell lies on the telephone any  more.
Understand? You're not going to, are you?.-
     Overcome with relief, Varenukha beamed and stammered :
     'Thank Go ... I mean . . . your  may ... as soon as I've had my supper
. .