Chapter 23: Satan's Great Ball
The Dear Baron Meigel
“He telephoned me as soon as he learned of my arrival in Moscow, offering his services in the field of his specialization—showing me all the notable sights of the city,” announced Woland to the crowd that hung on his every word.
It had been a Friday when Baron Meigel first contacted the infamous magician of The Variety Theater, and a shadow of the moon was just beginning to appear in the darkening sky. Meigel was, of course, quite accustomed to showing foreigners around Moscow’s illustrious attractions, so he thought it was only proper that someone of Woland’s prestige and fame should be given a proper tour of the city.
Meigel felt a slight nervous turning in his stomach as he picked up the phone to dial Apartment 50, but he forced himself to push all anxiety away and instead fantasized of the spectacular vacation or lovely new painting he might receive after his task was complete.
The phone in apartment 50 rang for quite some time before Meigel finally heard a voice on the other end. Initially, he was under the impression that whoever was on the opposing line was yelling at him, and he nearly hung up. Just as he was about slam the phone down in fear, he heard a strange meow of sorts and realized that his counterpart on the phone was not yelling at him, but rather at someone by the name of Behemoth who was apparently sulking about the lack of appreciation he had received for a new bowtie he had recently acquired.
“Hello? Hello?” Meigel inquired nervously into the receiver. He attempted to mask the jittery shake that had entered his normally suave and dignified tone, but his anxiety still shone through.
Suddenly the man on the other line screamed at the evidently underappreciated Behemoth to “get the hell out of the room,” and after sounds of shattering and the slamming of a door, the clamor on the other end of the line seemed to die down.
“Yes?” the voice on the phone inquired sharply, the speaker’s attention finally seeming to have settled on the telephone conversation.
Meigel cleared his throat, and mustering all the suavity he could, he politely asked if he “could please speak to the Professor Woland about a truly exceptional offer.”
Again, the Baron heard a clamoring and the faint sounds of indistinguishable voices, and he correctly assumed that the phone at been placed down. He then heard the slamming of a door as the room on the other end became silent except for the sound of a pair of feet steadily nearing the phone.
“My dearest Baron Meigel!” declared a booming voice on the other end, “What a pleasure it is to finally hear from you!”
Though a little unsettled as to how the voice on the other line, presumably Woland, had known his name, Meigel assumed he must have announced it to the first voice on the line, so he let the issue pass. Slowly gaining back his confidence, Meigel began setting himself up to present his offer to the newly famous professor.
“Professor,” the Meigel began with poise, “what an honor to speak with you in person…”
“Indeed, indeed,” interrupted Woland, and then much to Meigel’s surprise, “I know you are the most experienced in your field, and therefore I accept!”
Meigel was, of course, taken aback by Woland’s prior knowledge of his profession and offer, but then it struck the Baron that he was the most prestigious “tour guide” of sorts for all foreigners in Moscow, and therefore it was perfectly logical that a professor such a Woland would be familiar with his work. Yes, he, the Baron Meigel, was the very best, and all of Moscow knew it. So, Meigel collected himself again, and the two agreed to meet the next morning in the Patriarchs’ Ponds Park.
When Meigel awoke the next morning and leaned his head out the window to test the weather, he noticed something peculiar about the sky. Though it was a perfectly sunny and breezy spring day, up in the bright sky a soft outline of the moon remained. But the Baron thought none of it, dressed in his best suit, and promptly headed towards the Patriarchs’ Ponds.
He arrived to find Woland, attired in an expensive black suit, sitting on a bench with his legs crossed, staring at the faint, white outline of the moon that Meigel had noticed earlier. Meigel took his first step past the park gates, and immediately Woland’s head whipped around in Meigel’s direction. For an instant, the light seemed to play games with Woland’s face. It appeared to reflect off of his right eye, making it flash, but seconds later the effect disappeared and Meigel forgot about the incident entirely. He walked briskly towards Woland, beaming his classic smile at the Professor, and hastily stuck out his hand. Woland stood and took the hand, all the while flashing a set of perfectly white teeth.
“Where to?” smiled Woland, and for a moment the flash of light returned to his right eye, but yet again it disappeared almost the instant it appeared.
Of course, this odd movement of the light did not throw off a professional such as Meigel, and he simply smiled politely, but with subtle confidence, and began his tour. He began by showing the Professor all the typical tourist destinations in Russia, reciting his usual spiel with an energy that had a somehow false air about it. They ambled through Moscow, and it soon began clear that the sights Meigel was showing to Woland were nearly exclusively theaters. At every new theater Woland simply chuckled, nearly undetectably, to himself, and asked questions about the particular theater they had arrived at with the utmost interest. Meigel would answer the questions with equal zeal, and then the two would move on to their next destination. At first the conversation centered on topics of genuine insignificance, but slowly it became apparent that dear old Meigel was directing the discussions in a very specific direction.
“So, Professor,” Meigel inquired casually, “What is it that you do exactly?”
“Why my dearest Baron,” replied Woland, his voice seeping with sincerity, “I enjoy playing a good game of chess with my closest friends, and once in a while I like to attend a ball. You are quite fond of parties yourself, are you not, Meigel?”
The Baron chuckled a laugh that seemed just a few volumes to loud, smiled his classic smile, and turned his face away from Woland so that it faced the sky. Yet again, Meigel noticed the peculiar, white outline of the moon in the mid-day sky.
“You know, Professor, it seems to be coming back to be now that I read something about a performance you gave here in Moscow. Yes, now I am remembering. The reviews were astonishing were they not? The devil take you, you must be quite the talent!”
“You flatter me, Meigel,” said Woland, “for you see, I have a secret to my performances.”
The Baron’s breath suddenly stopped short and his eyes turned towards Woland with unparalleled intensity.
“Oh do go on!” replied the Baron, nearly screaming the words.
“Well,” Woland said in a smooth and silky tone, “the secret is that the audience is the main character! Isn’t that just wonderful-- how little work for me!”
Meigel’s face fell just slightly as he muttered “Aha,” in a halfhearted tone, but being the talented professional that he was, he quickly recovered his enthusiastic swing, and proceeded on with the conversation.
Curiously enough, at just this time the pair was reaching an old square, and at the end of the square the newly famous Variety Theater was coming into view.
“My God! What a coincidence!” exclaimed Meigel suddenly, “It hadn’t even occurred to me, but this is the very place you performed, Professor; was it not?”
“Indeed it was, Meigel,” replied Woland and said nothing more.
Meigel, clearly expecting a bit more of a response from the Professor was quiet for a moment, perhaps waiting for some extra commentary from Woland, but eventually took it upon himself to resurrect the conversation.
“You know, Professor, the more I think about it, the more it is coming back to me. I believe I read an article about your performance in this theater just the other day. Yes, that’s right, I did read something; it was a show of magic, was it not? The article seemed to imply that it was all some sort of grand trick, but I remembering reading the article and thinking that a professor such as yourself wouldn’t play tricks! No, not one of your caliber!”
Woland, who had been idly gazing at the old theater suddenly whipped his head around to stare Meigel directly in the eyes and, ignoring the Baron’s comments entirely, asked Meigel, with the utmost civility, if he had ever heard of The People’s Commissariat for Internals Affairs (also known as the NKVD).
“Why it sounds familiar,” answered Meigel, “But someone as interested in the arts as myself wouldn’t know about a government organization such as that. That is to say,” added Baron Meigel in a rushed ton, “if it is a government organization. I only assume it is.”
“Oh yes, I would assume so, dearest Meigel.”
“Yes, you see I am a man of the arts, of the theater. I work for the People’s Commissariat for Enlightenment; perhaps you have heard of it, Professor? I mainly show other officials like yourself around our beautiful city. I just love getting to know foreigners like yourself; it’s just grand!” said Meigel, and he continued on with his jumpy chatter.
“I love getting to show all you new-comers to Moscow our wonderful city, and most of all I love learning about you all! You and your cultures that is. I am very lucky, for I have the privilege of attending all the embassy events and parties. Truth be told, there is nothing quite like a ball every so often,” said Meigel with a nervous laugh.
It should be noted, dear reader, that Baron Meigel, was, in fact, quite familiar with the NKVD. Indeed, this very organization, which ran the streets of Moscow, had also funded the last four of Meigel’s vacations. Of course, this connection had simply slipped the dear Baron’s mind at this moment.
“You know, Meigel,” continued Woland, “I shall be throwing a ball this very night. In fact, right before you called I had been trying on suits for the occasion! I do love a fine suit. Indeed, all of my closest acquaintances will be there, foreigners of great prestige, I assure you.”
At these words Baron Meigel’s eyes opened nearly to the point of bursting, and the dear man seemed to be salivating at just the thought of the ball. Naturally, Meigel accepted, and informed Woland in a voice nearly dripping with enthusiasm that, “he simply could not wait for the occasion,” and that “he must return home immediately to prepare for the prestigious event!”
The Baron then rushed home, showered, and dressed himself in his very finest suit and black patent shoes. He took great pains to make himself presentable, for Woland was clearly an impeccable dresser, and Meigel wanted more than anything to impress the infamous professor.
When Meigel arrived at Apartment 50, he was surprised to find the door wide open. Calling out the Professor’s name, he cautiously stepped inside only to find that the Apartment was completely deserted. It was then that the Baron noticed the sounds of a full orchestra coming out of a large fireplace that sat in the center of the small and dark living room. At first Meigel assumed he must be imagining the sounds, but as he slowly approached the hearth, the majestic music became even louder. Carefully, Meigel leaned his head into the opening of the fireplace, attempting to identify the exact source of the music, and in a sudden rush he found himself falling through a black tunnel with the music rapidly increasing in volume.
It seemed as though he were falling through this dark and musical tunnel for days when quite suddenly, his body smacked against a cold, marble floor. Hey lay on the floor, groaning in pain, for some time, until he finally worked up the strength to pull himself off the ground. Still, Meigel could hear the orchestra coming from a door at the end of the dark room he had dropped into, and slowly he limped over towards the source music.
Yet again, the dear Baron’s eyes nearly popped out of his sockets as he walked through the door, but this time not so much as from excitement as from terror. All around him, dismembered corpses and decaying coffins were dropping out of the grand fireplace and instantly transforming back into normal, Russian citizens. The bodies then proceeded to waltz down the grand staircase in front of them, carrying on conversations as if everything were perfectly normal. You see, dear reader, it was beginning to dawn on the dear Meigel that perhaps this was not the illustrious ball he had been expecting, and he was beginning to feel a sinking feeling in his gut.
Nevertheless, the Baron forced himself to follow the stream of newly restored citizens into what appeared to be the main ballroom. The nervous turning in his gut continued to grow as he worked up the nerve to enter the grand room, apparently the source of the resounding music. The dear Baron quickly grabbed and downed a glass of champagne sitting on an elegant marble table and inhaled a last, deep breath before taking his final steps through the door.
“Naturally,” continued Woland, again facing the riveted crowd, “I was happy to invite him here.”
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