Master and Margarita

The Master and Margarita (Ма́стер и Маргари́та) is a novel by Russian writer Mikhail Bulgakov, written between 1928 and 1940 during Stalin´s regime. A censored version was published in Moscow magazine in 1966-1967. The manuscript was not published as a book until 1967, and then first in Paris/France. A samizdat version circulated that included parts cut out by official censors, and these were incorporated in a 1969 version published in Frankfurt. The novel has since been published in several languages and editions.
The story concerns a visit by the devil to the officially atheistic Soviet Union. Many critics consider it to be one of the best novels of the 20th century, as well as the foremost of Soviet satires.

^{P.S. My abolutely most favourite book :)}

 

 

 

В белом плаще с кровавым подбоем, шаркающей кавалерийской походкой, ранним утром

четырнадцатого числа весеннего месяца нисана в крытую колоннаду между двумя крыльями

дворца ирода великого вышел прокуратор Иудеи Понтий Пилат.

Более всего на свете прокуратор ненавидел запах розового масла, и все теперь

предвещало нехороший день, так как запах этот начал преследовать прокуратора с рассвета.

Прокуратору казалось, что розовый запах источают кипарисы и пальмы в саду, что к запаху

кожи и конвоя примешивается проклятая розовая струя. От флигелей в тылу дворца, где

расположилась пришедшая с прокуратором в Ершалаим первая когорта двенадцатого

молниеносного легиона, заносило дымком в колоннаду через верхнюю площадку сада, и к

горьковатому дыму, свидетельствовавшему о том, что кашевары в кентуриях начали готовить

обед, примешивался все тот же жирный розовый дух. О боги, боги, за что вы наказываете

меня?

 

 

Mikhail Bulgakov

Mikhaíl Afanasyevich Bulgakov (Михаи́л Афана́сьевич Булга́ков) May 15, 1891 – March 10, 1940, was a  Russian writer and playwright active in the first half of the 20th century. He is best known for his novel The Master and Margarita, which The Times of London has called one of the masterpieces of the 20th century. My favourite writer and the Master of my favourite book. 
"— Это водка? — слабо спросила Маргарита.
Кот подпрыгнул на стуле от обиды.
— Помилуйте, королева, — прохрипел он, — разве я позволил бы себе налить даме водки? Это чистый спирт!"

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.