This article was written by Maria Kozyreva

Bulgakov Museum Photos by Maria Kozyreva

Yesterday I met with my best friend. It was her birthday but she didn't want to celebrate it. The only thing she wanted was to gather her close friends, to spend the whole evening together chattering and strolling down Moscow streets. So she did.

We met at Mayakovskaya metro station and walked down to the city center. They say that Moscow is the heart of Russia and the center of the capital is the heart of Moscow. Nevertheless you can't say that you saw Russia if you were only in its capital. On the one hand, it is the very center of the Russian Federation, it is the city that demonstrates the grandeur of its country. On the other hand it is the historic center; it is the city where the most significant events for Russians have passed. Almost everywhere you will find signs of the past: monuments, old cathedrals even palaces. I think that the present in some way destroys the past, making Moscow more European than Russian . . .

My philosophical thoughts were suddenly interrupted by my friends. One girl proposed to go to the museum:

- Museum? In the evening after a hard day at work? Please don't spoil the evening!
Everyone started to whine like naughty children.
- Moreover everything is closed at this hour!
- You don't even want to visit Bulgakov museum?
She smiled archly.
- Museum of Bulgakov? That alters the case!

We were so excited. It turned out, that each of us wanted to visit it but due to lack of time, we never had. The reason for our enthusiasm was that Mikhail Bulgakov is one of the most mysterious Russian writers - especially known for his novel in which the main character is named Devil (named in the novel Voland).

The museum is hidden in the center of Moscow with its luxurious restaurants, numerous cafes and spa-centers. You may not even notice the small grey arc with a tunnel that leads to a small yard. Here we are in Sadovaya, 10. In fact, there are two museums because Bulgakov first lived in one flat and then moved to another, in the neighboring porch.

We entered the first museum and were met by Begemot, "a tom-cat, who appeared out of nowhere, huge as a hog, black as soot or as a rook, and with a desperate cavalryman's whiskers." It is one of Bulgakov's characters who somehow came to his former flat from the pages of Master and Margarita. Now that he lives in the museum, he seems to be a bit tired of importunate visitors who never leave poor Begemot unnoticed, constantly stroking and tousling him. We tried to be an exception, and therefore, we did not disturb him.

In this museum not only we saw the place where Bulgakov lived and worked, but also made a wish. There is a magic box in the living room of the museum and if you want something to come true you just have to write your wish on a sheet of paper, to ask the Master to grant it and put it into the box. Nobody will read it except for the Master . . . In August all the sheets of papers strewn with wishes are tied to balloons and released into the sky. From that day on all the wishes (especially related to love affairs) start to come true.

Master is the author of "the novel in the novel" about Pontius Pilate and Christ. His novel aroused a lot of criticism and was finally rejected. Voland was interested in his oeuvre and saved Master and his beloved Margarita.  I was standing in front of the magic box and thinking that I couldn't understand how Master can grant my wish without the help of the devil? And that wasn't really so desirable for me. But as I had already put my wish in the box, it was of no use thinking about its consequences. That evening my friends and I were especially hare-brained so we just spent another two hours in the cafe right in the museum celebrating the day when our wishes would come true.

It was so unbelievable that we drank coffee with biscuits in the room where Bulgakov started creating his novel that was published only 25 years after his death. In fact, he didn't even hope that his novel would be published during Soviet times when strong censure used to control every sentence. He didn't hope, but nevertheless he did his best to codify his ideas, to make them less evident and more ambiguous. And the Soviet government did not notice anything suspicious; therefore, granting the novel publication. They thought that the story had a happy ending, and that Bulgakov wanted to show the Soviet people that sooner or later the future would be joyful as well.

But they were quite wrong. Bulgakov wanted to show the fight of Good and Evil; obliquely he was mocking the Communist regime, Bolshevism and their policies. In fact, there are no positive characters in Master and Margarita at all. Inattentive readers may think that the character of Devil is positive, it may even seem that he does good to Margarita and to Master but in the end we understand that "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" and Voland managed to take the souls of the main characters with him to hell, described in the novel as something desirable and positive.

It was so nice in the cafe that we had almost forgotten about another museum right in the neighboring porch.  One day Voland came to Moscow and moved into the flat where Bulgakov once lived, which was exactly where we stood at that moment. Lines formed as Master and Margarita suddenly came into my mind:

It must be said that this apartment - no.50 - had long had, if not a bad, at least a strange reputation ... two years ago inexplicable events began to occur in this apartment: people began to disappear from this apartment without a trace.

It wasn't by chance that Bulgakov described in his novel the apartment where he lived and called it "naughty."  In reality life there was almost a nightmare for the writer. In Soviet times people used to live communally with corridor systems, that included a common kitchen, WC and shower on the floor. Overhearing one another was an unfortunate result.

In the evenings when Bulgakov worked, well, tried to work, some of his drunken neighbors, argued noisily and disturbed him. Bulgakov used to call the police but when they arrived everyone would return to their rooms and keep silent as if nothing had happened. The police even wanted to punish Bulgakov for hooliganism.  No one liked him in his apartment building as he was one of intellectuals and the others were laborers. In Soviet times such people hated intellectuals and tried to embitter their lives by all means. Later in Master and Margarita, Bulgakov, the satirist he was, showed how human nature depraved under the influence of social pressure, when government was imposing on people its rules, stereotypes and ideology.

Well, Bulgakov's neighbors hated him, thus the writer had to endure many difficulties and humiliations. However, if he hadn't lived there, he would have never known that dark side of the life in those days and probably he would have never been inspired to write Master and Margarita.  I strongly believe that "nothing is so bad in that there is not something of good."

The day was drawing to a close. We were a bit tired but happy. I didn't want to go home. It seemed to me that the evening had passed too quickly.

-Why not have dinner in Bulgakov's restaurant?

I didn't have to repeat this twice. The restaurant was quite unusual. To get in, we had to catch it. Yes, you haven't misread, we had to "catch it" as the restaurant is situated in the tramway Annushka. This tramway also existed in Master and Margarita. It was this tram where Begemot roamed into and even tried to pay:

Neither the conductress nor the passengers were struck by the essence of the matter: not just that a cat was boarding a tram-car, which would have been good enough, but that he was going to pay!

Now you can catch this tram circulating around the Boulevard ring. Inside there are seven tables and enough space for small parties. Although it was evening, we were lucky that day, managing to find one free table. As we sat down and looked at the menu, we were pleasantly surprised when we saw that all the dishes were named after Master and Margarita characters.

My friend ordered succulent and delicate lamb named "Creature of Master" while I took "Begemot's snack" and cocktail "Annushka."

The tram carried us away.

My dish was delicious but I wasn't hungry. It seemed to me that in this small tram we were guests of Bulgakov, who I felt was sitting right next to me.  I stared through the dusty window of the tram as Bulgakov whispered in my ear, reciting his novel, as we were whisked away into the depths of the Moscow night.

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