“In this day and age!” exclaims the Devil in Bulgakov’s novel upon meeting the Master, who, in Soviet Russia in the 1920’s, has written a book about Pontius Pilate and the Crucifixion of Jesus. The same thought occurs to every reader, who is surprised to find such a book published in the Soviet Union today.

The theme is a religious one, a new approach to the man Pontius Pilate and to the Crucifixion. But the theme alone is not the reason for the book’s success: it is Bulgakov’s unique craftsmanship and style, his masterful Russian satirical prose. The ancient struggle between good and evil is treated in an extremely surrealistic manner – yet a manner based, to a great extent, on contemporary Soviet reality.

The book deals with the consequences of abuse of political power. This idea is developed through two intermingling events: the apparition of the Devil and his minions in Moscow one day in the 1920’s, and the Crucifixion in old Judea. Satan appears as a foreign magician, accompanied by a band of weird (but real) companions. During four short days in Moscow they bring about widespread chaos. The only two people who come into direct contact with Satan but remain untouched by insanity, murder, and evil are two lovers, the man known only as the Master. His book about Pilate is worshipped by Margarita, who dedicates her life to saving the Master from insanity, so that he might rewrite his manuscript, which had been burned and for which he had been hounded by the critics. (Parallels with Bulgakov’s own career are obvious.)

In the novel’s first publication (in the magazine Moskva, 1966-1967), several important passages were omitted. For example, in Ch. 15 of Book I Bulgakov depicts in the form of a dream a particular detail of the reality of the Stalin era, the introduction of “Torgsins,” government stores where, in an impoverished country, everything was available for foreign currency, even gold and personal jewelry. Specific reference is also made to the propaganda use of Puškin’s The Covetous Knight in an attempt to encourage the surrender of personal treasures to the state. The Ginsburg translation, based on the first book edition (Paris, 1967), is missing these sections, but the Glenny translation is complete, since it contains the suppressed sections which were published in Bern later in 1967.

Bulgakov presents society as being devoid of any moral base. Men of medicine, literature, the theater, and other professions are depicted as weaklings, cowards, or greedy characters. Those who do not wish to compromise with Satan are doomed to impotence, rejected by society, excluded from active life, or simply murdered. All existence becomes desolate. In such a world, with no established norms or moral control, everything is possible. The real becomes unreal, dream becomes reality, the human being is transformed into an animal. Utter horror results.

To portray this chaos, Bulgakov employs a variety of reminiscences and aptly connects the remote with the close at hand. The plethora of surrealistic details demonstrates Bulgakov’s high skill in presenting the incomprehensible powers which human beings and their fantasy are capable of.

The Master and Margarita consists of two separate, independent, but related stories. In the retelling of the Crucifixion, some details are altered, e.g., Judas is executed (by order of Pilate). The spirit of evil is seen as powerful, even glorious. The dynamic, capable Devil is the real hero of the book. Although ultimately brought down by the wish of the Creator, he is not portrayed as having been defeated. Bulgakov succeeds in winning the reader’s admiration for both Pilate and the Devil – not for the Creator, who, as opposed, for example, to the Jesus of Dostoevskij’s “The Grand Inquisitor,” is not a challenging rival of the demagogues, but a mild and colorless character. The struggle between the spirit of good and the spirit of evil remains unresolved.

In some passages Bulgakov’s language sounds almost Biblical; in others, he employs a racy vernacular. His pictures of nature, like Gogol’s, have a strong musical quality. Throughout, the style is masterful. Although both translations can fascinate readers, much of the beauty is lost, for Bulgakov, again like Gogol, is extremely difficult to translate.

Delayed three decades in publication, The Master and Margarita serves as new proof that neither Russian literature, nor the Russian language has been irreparably damaged by the October Revolution.

Victoria A. Babenko
Ohio State University