Magazine for tourists

Table of contents

Kinds of tourism

Excursion (author BV Emelyanov)


1. Fundamentals Excursion

2. guided technique

3. Professional skills guide

Tunisia (author Danielle shetar Friedrich chum)

In the Sikhote-Alin (author VK Arseniev)

Michail bulgakov. the heart of a dog

Mikhail bulgakov. the master and margarita

 1. never talk to strangers
 Pontius pilate
 The seventh proof
 The pursuit
 The affair at griboyedov
 The haunted flat
 A. duel between professor and poet
 Koroviev's tricks
 News from yalta
 The two ivans
 Black magic revealed
 Enter the hero
 Saved by cock-crow
 The dream of nikanor ivanovich
 The execution
 A day of anxiety
 Unwelcome visitors
 Azazello's cream
 The flight
 By candlelight
 Satan's rout
 The master is released
 How the procurator tried to save judas of karioth
 The burial
 The last of flat no.50
 The final adventure of koroviev and behemoth
 The fate of the master and margarita is decided
 Time to go
 On sparrow hills
 Absolution and eternal refuge
Charlotte bronte. jane eyre

F. scott fitzgerald / the great gatsby

Jerome klapka jerome / three men in a boat

     Mikhail bulgakov. the master and margarita
          A day of anxiety

A Day of Anxiety

On Friday morning, the day after the disastrous show, the permanent

staff of the Variety Theatre--Vassily Stepanovich Lastochkin the accountant,

two bookkeepers, three typists, the two cashiers, the ushers, the

commissionaires and the cleaners-- were not at work but were instead sitting

on the window-ledges looking out on to Sadovaya Street and watching what was

happening outside the theatre. There beneath the theatre walls wound a

double queue of several thousand people whose tail-end had already reached

Kudrinskaya Square. At the head of the queue stood a couple of dozen of the

leading lights of the Moscow theatrical world.

The queue was in a state of high excitement, attracting the attention

of the passers-by and busily swapping hair-raising stories about the

previous evening's incredible performance of black magic. Vassily

Stepanovich the accountant, who had not been at yesterday's show, was

growing more and more uneasy. The commissionaires were saying unbelievable

things, such as how after the show a number of ladies had been seen on the

street in a highly improper state. The shy and unassuming Vassily

Stepanovich could only blink as he listened to the description of all these

sensations and felt utterly unable to decide what to do ; meanwhile

something had to be done and it was he who had to do it, as he was now the

senior remaining member of the Variety's management.

By ten o'clock the ticket queue had swollen to such a size that the

police came to hear of it and rapidly sent some detachments of horse and

foot to reduce the queue to order. Unfortunately the mere existence of a

mile-long queue was enough to cause a minor riot in spite of all the police

could do.

Inside the Variety things were as confused as they were outside. The

telephone had been ringing since early morning-- ringing in Likhodeyev's

office, in Rimsky's office, in the accounts department, in the box-office

and in Varenukha's office. At first Vassily Stepanovich had attempted to

answer, the cashier had tried to cope, the commissionaires had mumbled

something into the telephone when it rang, but soon they stopped answering

altogether because there was simply no answer to give the people asking

where Likhodeyev, Rimsky and Varenukha were. They had been able to put them

off the scent for a while by saying that Likhodeyev was in his flat, but

this only produced more angry calls later, declaring that they had rung

Likhodeyev's flat and been told that he was at the Variety.

One agitated lady rang up and demanded to speak to Rimsky and was

advised to ring his wife at home, at which the earpiece, sobbing, replied

that she was Rimsky's wife and he was nowhere to be found. Odd stories began

to circulate. One of the charwomen was telling everyone that when she had

gone to clean the treasurer's office she had found the door ajar, the lights

burning, the window on to the garden smashed, a chair overturned on the

floor and no one in the room.

At eleven o'clock Madame Rimsky descended on the Variety, weeping and

wringing her hands. Vassily Stepanovich was by now utterly bewildered and

unable to offer her any advice. Then at half past eleven the police

appeared. Their first and very reasonable question was :

' What's happening here? What is all this? '

The staff" retreated, pushing forward the pale and agitated Vassily

Stepanovich. Describing the situation as it really was, he had to admit that

the entire management of the Variety, including the general manager, the

treasurer and the house manager, had vanished without trace, that last

night's compere had been removed to a lunatic asylum and that, in short,

yesterday's show had been a catastrophe.

Having done their best to calm her, the police sent the sobbing

Madame Rimsky home, then turned with interest to the charwoman's story

about the state of the treasurer's office. The staff were told to go and get

on with their jobs and after a short while the detective squad turned up,

leading a sharp-eared muscular dog, the colour of cigarette ash and with

extremely intelligent eyes. At once a rumour spread among the Variety

Theatre staff that the dog was none other than the famous Ace of Diamonds.

It was. Its behaviour amazed everybody. No sooner had the animal walked into

the treasurer's office than it growled, bared its monstrous yellowish teeth,

then crouched on its stomach and crept towards the broken window with a look

of mingled terror and hostility. Mastering its fear the dog suddenly leaped

on to the window ledge, raised its great muzzle and gave an eerie, savage

howl. It refused to leave the window, growled, trembled and crouched as

though wanting to jump out of the window.

The dog was led out of the office to the entrance hall, from whence it

went out of the main doors into the street and across the road to the

taxi-rank. There it lost the scent. After that Ace of Diamonds was taken


The detectives settled into Varenukha's office, where one after the

other, they called in all the members of the Variety staff who had witnessed

the events of the previous evening. At every step the detectives were beset

with unforeseen difficulties. The thread kept breaking in their hands.

Had there been any posters advertising the performance? Yes, there had.

But since last night new ones had been pasted over them and now there was

not a single one to be found anywhere. Where did this magician come from?

Nobody knew. Had a contract been signed?

' I suppose so,' replied Vassily Stepanovich miserably.

' And if so it will have gone through the books, won't it? '

' Certainly,' replied Vassily Stepanovich in growing agitation.

' Then where is it? '

' It's not here,' replied the accountant, turning paler and spreading

his hands. It was true : there was no trace of a contract in the accounts

department files, the treasurer's office, Likhodeyev's office or Varenukha's


What was the magician's surname? Vassily Stepanovich did not know, he

had not been at yesterday's show. The commissionaires did not know, the

box-office cashier frowned and frowned, thought and thought, and finally

said :

'Wo ... I think it was Woland. . . .'

Perhaps it wasn't Woland? Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was Poland.

The Aliens' Bureau, it appeared, had never heard of anyone called

Woland or Poland or any other black magician. Karpov, an usher, said that as

far as he knew the magician was staying at Likhodeyev's flat. Naturally they

immediately went to the flat, but there was no sign of a magician living

there. Likhodeyev himself was also missing. The maid Grunya was not there

and nobody knew where she was. Both the house committee chairman, Nikanor

Ivanovich, and the secretary, Prolezhnev, had also vanished.

The investigation so far appeared to amount to a total absurdity : the

entire management had vanished, there had been a scandalous show the

previous evening--but who had arranged it? Nobody knew.

Meanwhile it was nearly noon, time for the box office to open. This, of

course, was out of the question. A large piece of cardboard was hung on the

Variety's doors with the announcement:




This caused a stir in the queue, beginning at its head, but the

excitement subsided and the queue began to disperse. After an hour there was

scarcely a trace of it on Sadovaya Street. The detectives left to pursue

their inquiries elsewhere, the staff, except for the watchmen, were

dismissed and the doors of the Variety were closed.

Vassily Stepanovich the accountant had two urgent tasks to perform.

Firstly to go to the Commission for Theatrical Spectacles and Light

Entertainment with a report on the previous day's events and then to deposit

yesterday's takings of 21,711 roubles at the Commission's finance


The meticulous and efficient Vassily Stepanovich wrapped the money in

newspaper, tied it up with string, put it into his briefcase and following

his standing instructions avoided taking a bus or tram but went instead to

the nearby taxi-rank.

As soon as the three cab-drivers on the rank saw a fare approaching

with a chock-full briefcase under his arm, all three of them instantly drove

off empty, scowling back as they went. Amazed, the accountant stood for a

while wondering what this odd behaviour could mean. After about three

minutes an empty cab drove up the the rank, the driver grimacing with

hostility when he saw his fare.

' Are you free? ' asked Vassily Stepanovich with an anxious cough.

' Show me your money,' snarled the driver.

Even more amazed, the accountant clutched his precious briefcase under

one arm, pulled a ten-rouble note out of his wallet and showed it to the


' I'm not taking you,' he said curtly.

' Excuse me, but . . .' The accountant began, but the driver

interrupted him:

' Got a three-rouble note? '

The bewildered accountant took out two three-rouble notes from his

wallet and showed them to the driver.

' O.K., get in,' he shouted, slamming down the flag of his meter so

hard that he almost broke it. ' Let's go.'

' Are you short of change? ' enquired the accountant timidly.

' Plenty of change! ' roared the driver and his eyes, reddened with

fury, glared at Vassily Stepanovich from the mirror. ' Third time it's

happened to me today. Just the same with the others. Some son of a bitch

gives me a tenner and I give him four-fifty change. Out he gets, the

bastard! Five minutes later I look--instead of a tenner there's a label off

a soda-water bottle! ' Here the driver said several unprintable words. '

Picked up another fare on Zaborskaya. Gives me a tenner--I give him three

roubles change. Gets out. I look in my bag and out flies a bee! Stings me on

the finger! I'll . . .' The driver spat out more unprintable words. ' And

there was no tenner. There was a show on at that (unprintable) Variety

yesterday evening and some (unprintable) conjurer did a turn with a lot of

(unprintable) ten-rouble notes . . .'

The accountant was dumbstruck. He hunched himself up and tried to look

as if he was hearing the very word ' Variety ' for the first time in his

life as he thought to himself: ' Well I'm damned! '

Arrived at his destination and paying in proper money, the accountant

went into one building and hurried along the corridor to the chief cashier's

office, but even before he reached it he realised that he had come at a bad

moment. A rumpus was going on in the offices of the Theatrical Commission. A

cleaner ran past him with her headscarf awry and bulging eyes.

' He's not there! He's not there, dear,' she screamed, turning to

another man hurrying along the passage. ' His jacket and trousers are there

but there's nobody in 'em! '

She disappeared through a door, from which there at once came the sound

of smashing crockery. Vassily Stepanovich then saw the familiar figure of

the chief cashier come running out of the secretaries' office and vanish,

but the man was in such a state that he failed to recognise Vasilly


Slightly shaken, the accountant reached the door of the secretaries'

office, which was the ante-room to the chairman's office, where he had the

greatest shock of all.

Through the far door came a terrible voice, unmistakably belonging to

Prokhor Petrovich, the chairman of the Commission. ' I suppose he's telling

somebody off,' thought the puzzled accountant. Looking round, he saw

something else--there, in a leather armchair, her head resting on the back,

sobbing uncontrollably and clutching a wet handkerchief, her legs stretched

out to the middle of the floor, lay Prokhor Petrovich's secretary, the

beautiful Anna Richardovna. Her chin was smeared with lipstick and streaks

of dissolved mascara were running down her peach-skin cheeks.

Seeing him come in, Anna Richardovna jumped up, ran to Vassily

Stepanovich, clutched his lapels and began to shake him, howling:

' Thank God! At least there's one of you brave enough! They've all run

away, they've all let us down! Come and see him, I don't know what to do! '

Still sobbing she dragged him into the chairman's office.

Once inside Vassily Stepanovich dropped his briefcase in horror.

Behind the huge desk with its massive inkwell sat an empty suit. A dry

pen was hurrying, unheld, across a sheet of paper. The suit had a shirt and

tie, a fountain pen was clipped in its breast-pocket, but above the collar

there was no neck and no head and there were no wrists protruding from the

cuffs. The suit was hard at work and oblivious of the uproar round about.

Hearing someone come in, the suit leaned back in its chair and from

somewhere just above the collar came the familiar voice of Prokhor


' What is it? There's a notice on the door saying that I'm not seeing


The beautiful secretary moaned and cried, wringing her hands :

' Don't you see? He's not there! Bring him back, oh bring him back!'

Someone peeped round the door, groaned and flew out again. Vassily

Stepanovich felt his legs shaking and he sat down on the edge of a

chair--not forgetting, though, to hold on to his briefcase. Anna Richardovna

pranced round Vassily Stepanovich, pulling at his coat and shrieking :

' I've always, always stopped him whenever he began swearing! Now he's

sworn once too often!' The girl ran to the desk and exclaimed in a tender,

musical voice, slightly nasal from so much weeping: ' Prosha dear, where are

you? '

' Who are you addressing as " Prosha "? ' enquired the suit haughtily,

drawing further back into the chair.

' He doesn't recognise me! He doesn't recognise me! Don't you see? '

sobbed the girl.

' Kindly stop crying in my office!' said the striped suit irritably,

stretching out its sleeve for a fresh pile of paper.

' No, I can't look, I can't look! ' cried Anna Richardovna and ran back

into her office, followed, like a bullet, by the accountant.

' Just imagine--I was sitting here,' began Anna Richardovna trembling

with horror and clutching Vassily Stepanovich's sleeve, ' when in came a

cat. A great black animal as big as Behemoth. Naturally I shooed it out and

it went, but then a fat man came in who also had a face like a cat, said "

Do you always say ' shoo ' to visitors?" and went straight in to Prokhor

Petrovich. So I shouted " What d'you mean by going in there --have you gone

crazy? " But the cheeky brute marched straight in to Prokhor Petrovich and

sat down in the chair facing him. Well, Prokhor is the nicest man alive, but

he's nervous. He lost his temper. He works like a trojan, but he's apt to be

nervy and he just flared up. " Why have you come in here without being

announced? " he said. And then, if you please, that impudent creature

stretched out in his chair and said with a smile : " I've come to have a

chat with you on a little matter of business." Prokhor Petrovich snapped at

him again :

I'm busy, to which the beast said: " You're not busy at all ..." How

d'you like that? Well, of course, Prokhor Petrovich lost all patience then

and shouted: " What is all this? Damn me if I don't have you thrown out of

here! " The beast just smiled and said: " Damn you, I think you said? Very

well! " And--bang! Before I could even scream, I looked and cat-face had

gone and there was this . . . suit . . . sitting . . . Oooooh! ' Stretching

her mouth into a shapeless cavity Anna Richardovna gave a howl. Choking back

her sobs she took a deep breath but could only gulp nonsensically:

' And it goes on writing and writing and writing! I must be going off

my head! It talks on the telephone! The suit! They've all run away like

rabbits! '

Vassily Stepanovich could only stand there, trembling. Fate rescued

him. Into the secretaries' office with a firm, regular tread marched two

policemen. Catching sight of them the lovely girl began sobbing even harder

and pointed towards the office door.

' Now, now, miss, let's not cry,' said the first man calmly. Vassily

Stepanovich, deciding that he was superfluous, skipped away and a minute

later was out in the fresh air. His head felt hollow, something inside it

was booming like a trumpet and the noise reminded him of the story told by

one of the commissionaires about a cat which had taken part in yesterday's

show. ' Aha! Perhaps it's our little pussy up to his tricks again? '

Having failed to hand in the money at the Commission's head office, the

conscientious Vassily Stepanovich decided to go to the branch office, which

was in Vagankovsky Street and to calm himself a little he made his way there

on foot.

The branch office of the Theatrical Commission was quartered in a

peeling old house at the far end of a courtyard, which was famous for the

porphyry columns in its hallway. That day, however, the visitors to the

house were not paying much attention to the porphyry columns.

Several visitors were standing numbly in the hall and staring at a

weeping girl seated behind a desk full of theatrical brochures which it was

her job to sell. The girl seemed to have lost interest in her literature and

only waved sympathetic enquirers away, whilst from above, below and all

sides of the building came the pealing of at least twenty desperate


Weeping, the girl suddenly gave a start and screamed hysterically :

' There it is again! ' and began singing in a wobbly soprano :

' Yo-o, heave-ho! Yo-o heave-ho! '

A messenger, who had appeared on the staircase, shook his fist at

somebody and joined the girl, singing in a rough, tuneless baritone:

' One more heave, lads, one more heave . . .'

Distant voices chimed in, the choir began to swell until finally the

song was booming out all over the building. In nearby room No. 6, the

auditor's department, a powerful hoarse bass voice boomed out an octave

below the rest. The chorus was accompanied crescendo by a peal of telephone


' All day lo-ong we must trudge the sbore,' roared the messenger on the


Tears poured down the girl's face as she tried to clench her teeth, but

her mouth opened of its own accord and she sang an octave above the

messenger :

' Work all da-ay and then work more . . .'

What surprised the dumbfounded visitors was the fact that the singers,

spread all through the building, were keeping excellent time, as though the

whole choir were standing together and watching an invisible conductor.

Passers-by in Vagankovsky Street stopped outside the courtyard gates,

amazed to hear such sounds of harmony coming from the Commission.

As soon as the first verse was over, the singing stopped at once, as

though in obedience to a conductor's baton. The messenger swore under his

breath and ran off.

The front door opened and in walked a man wearing a light coat on top

of a white overall, followed by a policeman.

' Do something, doctor, please! ' screamed the hysterical girl.

The secretary of the branch office ran out on to the staircase and

obviously burning with embarrassment and shame said between hiccups:

' Look doctor, we have a case of some kind of mass hypnosis, so you

must. . .' He could not finish his sentence, stuttered and began singing

'Shilka and Nerchinsk . . .'

' Fool! ' the girl managed to shout, but never managed to say who she

meant and instead found herself forced into a trill and joined in the song

about Shilka and Nerchinsk.

' Pull yourselves together! Stop singing!' said the doctor to the


It was obvious that the secretary would have given anything to stop

singing but could not.

When the verse was finished the girl at the desk received a dose of

valerian from the doctor, who hurried off to give the secretary and the rest

the same treatment.

' Excuse me, miss,' Vassily Stepanovich suddenly asked the girl, ' has

a black cat been in here? '

' What cat? ' cried the girl angrily. ' There's a donkey in this

office--a donkey! ' And she went on : 'If you want to hear about it I'll

tell you exactly what's happened.'

Apparently the director of the branch office had a mania for organising


' He does it all without permission from head office! ' said the girl


In the course of a year the branch director had succeeded in organising

a Lermontov Club, a Chess and Draughts Club, a Ping-Pong Club and a Riding

Club. In summer he threatened to organise a rowing club and a mountaineering

club. And then this morning in came the director at lunch time . . .

'. . . arm in arm with some villain,' said the girl, ' that he'd picked

up God knows where, wearing check trousers, with a wobbling pince-nez . . .

and an absolutely impossible face! '

There and then, according to the girl, he had introduced him to all the

lunchers in the dining-room as a famous specialist in organising choral


The faces of the budding mountaineers darkened, but the director told

them to cheer up and the specialist made jokes and assured them on his oath

that singing would take up very little time and was a wonderfully useful


Well, of course, the girl went on, the first two to jump up were Fanov

and Kosarchuk, both well-known toadies, and announced that they wanted to

join. The rest of the staff realised that there was no way out of it, so

they all joined the choral society too. It was decided to practise during

the lunch break, because all the rest of their spare time was already taken

up with Lermontov and draughts. To set an example the director announced

that he sang tenor. What happened then was like a bad dream. The check-clad

chorus master bellowed: ' Do, mi, sol, do!' He dragged some of the shy

members out from behind a cupboard where they had been trying to avoid

having to sing, told Kosarchuk that he had perfect pitch, whined, whimpered,

begged them to show him some respect as an old choirmaster, struck a tuning

fork on his finger and announced that they would begin with ' The Song of

the Volga Boatmen '.

They struck up. And they sang very well--the man in the check suit

really did know his job. They sang to the end of the first verse. Then the

choirmaster excused himself, saying : ' I'll be back in a moment . . .'--and

vanished. Everybody expected him back in a minute or two, but ten minutes

went by and there was still no sign of him. The staff were delighted--he had

run away!

Then suddenly, as if to order, they all began singing the second verse,

led by Kosarchuk, who may not have had perfect pitch but who had quite a

pleasant high tenor. They finished the verse. Still no conductor. Everybody

started to go back to their tables, but they had no time to eat before quite

against their will they all started singing again. And they could not stop.

There would be three minutes' silence and they would burst out into song

again. Silence--then more singing! Soon people began to realise that

something terrible was happening. The director locked himself in his office

out of shame.

With this the girl's story broke off--even valerian was no use,

A quarter of an hour later three lorries drove up to the gateway on

Vagankovsky Street and the entire branch staff, headed by the director, was

put into them. Just as the first lorry drove through the gate and out into

the street, the staff, standing in the back of the lorry and holding each

other round the shoulders, all opened their mouths and deafened the whole

street with a song. The second lorry-load joined in and then the third. On

they drove, singing. The passers-by hurrying past on their own business gave

the lorries no more than a glance and took no notice, thinking that it was

some works party going on an excursion out of town. They were certainly

heading out of town, but not for an outing: they were bound for Professor

Stravinsky's clinic.

Half an hour later the distracted Vassily Stepanovich reached the

accounts department hoping at last to be able to get rid of his large sum of

money. Having learned from experience, he first gave a cautious glance into

the long hall, where the cashiers sat behind frosted-glass windows with gilt

markings. He found no sign of disturbance or upheaval. All was as quiet as

it should be in such a respectable establishment.

Vassily Stepanovich stuck his head through the window marked ' Paying

In ', said good-day to the clerk and politely asked for a paying-in slip.

' What do you want? ' asked the clerk behind the window.

The accountant looked amazed.

' I want to pay in, of course. I'm from the Variety.'

' One minute,' replied the clerk and instantly shut his little window.

' Funny! ' thought Vassily Stepanovich. This was the first time in his

life that he had been treated like this. We all know how hard it is to

acquire money--the process is strewn with obstacles ; but in his thirty

years' experience Vassily Stepanovich had never yet found anyone who had

made the least objection to taking money when offered it.

At last the window was pushed open again and the accountant leaned

forward again.

' How much have you got? ' asked the clerk.

' Twenty-one thousand, seven hundred and eleven roubles.'

' Oho! ' replied the clerk ironically and handed Vassily Stepanovich a

green form. Thoroughly familiar with it, he filled it out in a moment and

began untying the string on his package. As he unpacked it a red film came

over his eyes and he groaned in agony. In front of him lay heaps of foreign

money--Canadian dollars, English pounds, Dutch guilders, Latvian latts,

Esthonian crowns . . .

' Here's another of these jokers from the Variety! ' said a grim voice

behind the accountant. And Vassily Stepanovich was immediately put under


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